


Blood Red Burdens

by SweetPages



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angsting Bucky, Depictions of Death, Language, M/M, Mentions of terminal illness, Minor Character Death, Minor Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, PTSD, Some Other Marvel/Avengers Characters Mentioned, Stucky As Detectives, depictions of gore, depictions of violence, modern day AU, post serum steve rogers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-19
Updated: 2016-05-21
Packaged: 2018-04-10 04:50:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 115,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4377827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetPages/pseuds/SweetPages
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Officer Steve Rogers is happy where he is- serving the community he grew up in. Unfortunately for him, his career path suddenly changes after a run-in with Tony Stark. Dealing with missing people, murder, and prejudiced coworkers isn't exactly on his bucket list, but he's determined to make the most of it and to prove himself.</p><p>Bucky Barnes is a talented young homicide detective who is attempting to solve his biggest case yet, but can't seem to find any leads. He's used to dealing with things that test him, but with more people turning up dead his frustration is almost at its limit. Their lives aren't the only ones he may need to worry about, however.</p><p>When Steve and Bucky team up, they'll not only have to learn to work together and develop a relationship they can depend on- they'll have to help each other solve possibly the biggest case the NYPD homicide division has ever seen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. “Congratulations, detective.”

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my first multi-chaptered fic! This might be a long ride, but I'm hoping it'll be a fun (and maybe thrilling?) one! This first chapter is in Steve's point of view, but the next one will be in Bucky's. I'm going to try to keep this pattern going throughout the story, but there may be a couple of instances where some consecutive chapters end up being in the same point of view. I'm planning on trying to upload a new chapter once a week, but I will try and upload sooner once in a while, if I can! 
> 
> Without further ado, here's Blood Red Burdens.

**S** teve Rogers isn’t easily frightened. Well, frightened may not be the correct term to use, his best friend Sam can still sneak up on him and make him scream like something out of a horror flick.

Intimidated. That’s the word. After growing up defending himself from schoolyard bullies and then proving himself in the Army, Steve feels that he can hold his own against most. Nick Fury is not most.

The man eyes him from across the large mahogany desk as Steve stands in his office, staring at a spot on the wall above his head. He doesn’t dare make eye contact during the tense silence. He still isn’t exactly sure what he’s in here for after all, and he doesn’t want to see the anger or disappointment that could very well be present on Fury’s face. The older man suddenly opens his mouth to speak and Steve tenses.

“Rogers, do you know the reason you’re in here today?” Fury’s voice has a pleasant timbre to it, but Steve can’t relax at its tone if he wanted to, the sharpness of the question speeding up his heart a little as he stands there. He swears he can feel a tiny bead of sweat welling up near his temple.

“No sir.” He answers, his voice sounding stable and void of anxiety through sheer force of will. His response isn’t entirely true, he does have _some_ idea of why he might be in Chief Fury’s office. He’s pretty sure it has something to do with one Tony Stark, the billionaire weapons and technology developer who had called the NYPD after his beloved Lamborghini Veneno had been stolen. It was a mystery as to how it had happened. Being a technology genius, Stark had installed in his car the very best security that he himself had developed. “Impenetrable” he’d said, “Unhackable. There’s no person or computer who could get by that alarm system.” Steve had been first on the scene and called it in. Someone had to have seen it and remembered it, there were only three models made and it was an extremely flashy vehicle. Which made sense, Steve had thought, as Stark was possibly the single flashiest person he’d ever met. Steve eventually found the car himself, following a lead from a deli owner in the Bronx who’d seen the car, and he’d gone out and apprehended the thief immediately. Stark had been so grateful that he’d gotten his phone out that moment and called the department to tell them Steve should be promoted, while Steve had been completely dumbstruck at the turn of events. He’d protested afterward, telling Tony that he was simply doing his job (which he was), but Stark had only shrugged, said “Whelp what’s done is done,” and drove off in his flashy car. Steve has a feeling Stark had only done it because he’d felt like he’d owed him. Especially because Steve had agreed to keep the fact he’d forgotten to _set_ the car alarm a secret.

And that, he figures, is how he’s ended up on the top floor of 1 Police Plaza, in the office of Chief of Police Nick Fury, about to be yelled at. Or worse. Nick Fury is a very no-nonsense person, and the fact that he got a call from Tony Stark, who is sometimes the walking embodiment of nonsense, probably does not sit well with him.

“Well let me tell you.” Fury narrows his eyes at Steve as he leans forward. Oh no, Steve thinks, this is not going to end well at all is it?

“You’re here because of Stark. Tony Stark. We received a call from him yesterday letting us know that you need to be promoted. He was very…insistent.”

Steve cringes internally. He’d remembered Stark’s exact words yesterday as he stood there staring at him, mouth slightly ajar in his shock.

“Tell the head-fuzz-in-charge that Rogers- that’s your name right? Rogers?” he’d asked, not waiting for Steve to respond before continuing. “-needs to be promoted ASAP.” Steve hadn’t known who he’d gotten on the other end of the line, and he almost didn’t want to. “If he isn’t then you all are even more incompetent than I thought. Next time I see him, I don’t wanna see him in blue, got it? Good.” Then he’d hung up the phone and smiled so frankly at him, Steve had simply kept staring in silence.

He knows Fury wouldn’t appreciate being spoken to that way, especially by an irresponsible billionaire who is just as well-known for partying as he is for manufacturing new technology.

“And that, Rogers, is why you need to pack up your desk.” Fury states, watching Steve carefully. Steve’s eyes widen at the words, and he tries not to let his surprise and disbelief show. He knew that Stark might get him into some trouble, but getting him _fired_? That hadn’t really crossed his mind. He’d done his job, hadn’t he? He’d been doing so well on the force, and he can’t be fired just because of one stupid, selfish, billionaire playboy philanthro-

“Because you’re being promoted.” Fury speaks again, interrupting Steve’s downward spiral of thoughts.

Steve stares.

“I…uh…sir?” Well, he can’t fault himself for his loss of words. That was definitely not what he was expecting. He swears he sees a little smile appear on Fury’s face, but it’s gone in the next instant.

“You did an excellent job recovering Mr. Stark’s car, or at least he seemed to think so. He’s also an important supporter of the NYPD, what with him being a technology and weapons developer and all. But I’m assuming you didn’t know that.” This time Steve’s almost sure Fury is smiling, just a little. It’s true though, Steve hadn’t known Stark supported the department. To be fair, most people probably don’t, but he’s an actual part of the department, so he assumes that it’s something he most likely should have been aware of. “What’s more,” Fury continues, obviously not expecting Steve to respond. “I’ve been keeping a close eye on you since you got here, something that Captain Phillips suggested I do.” Steve’s eyes widen in surprise at the mention of his old army captain. How does Fury know Captain Phillips? “And he was right,” Fury continues, “you’ve been excellent at your job, and you obviously know what you’re doing. We need that initiative and dedication being utilized, Rogers, and that’s why you’re moving up.” Fury finishes, leaning back in his seat to signify that he’s done speaking.

There are a million questions flying through his head, but Steve only really wants to ask one at the moment.

“Captain Phillips, sir?”

Fury nods. “Phillips and I used to serve together. We were close. Still are. When you told him you joined the force, he gave me a call, told me to watch you. Said you were one of his favorites.” Steve knows Captain Phillips had really liked him. He’d been impressed with how hard Steve had worked during his time serving his country, and had acted as his mentor as well as his captain.

Steve nods. He’d have to thank Captain Phillips for looking out for him later.  
“I…sir, thank you, this is…a surprise, I’ll admit.” More than a surprise, really. Steve was about to have a mental breakdown over losing his job not two minutes ago, and now he’s being given a promotion? And because of Tony Stark and his old captain who he hasn’t actually seen in years?

“Well it shouldn’t be,” Fury replies, his tone frank. “You’ve done well during your time here, and now we could use your skills in other places.”

“Uh, sir, where exactly am I being promoted to?” Steve asks, having absolutely no idea where his “skills” might prove useful. He hadn’t even thought of the possibility of a promotion, he’d been perfectly happy as an officer. Fury leans forward, pushing a file toward him across his desk. Steve hesitates for a second before moving forward and picking up the file. He flips it open, seeing a photo of a girl attached to some documents. The document on the top has a date written on it that signifies it’s three years old.

“Homicide.” Fury replies, holding his hand out across the desk. “Congratulations, detective.”

Steve shakes his hand.

* * *

 

 

He enters the department the next day with a nervous feeling in the pit of his stomach. This is all a whirlwind, after all. He really had been okay with just being a police officer; that was what he’d joined the force to do. He’d wanted to simply interact with the community, to protect and serve the people in it. But now here he is, on his way to the fifth floor, and wearing a suit. He’d only worn a suit three times in his entire life before this morning, how is he supposed to wear one every day now.

He shakes his head as he enters the elevator. He hadn’t been able to calm his nerves during his morning run, or his drive to work, and now he has to get his head in the game. He doesn’t want his superiors or coworkers to think he can’t focus. Taking a deep breath, he watches the light for the fifth floor go on, and he exhales as the doors slide open.

The fifth floor is…busy. People are fast-walking to other people’s desks, files in hand, or moving to different rooms, or pointing to things on a white board. There are certainly more people here than there’d been on his old floor. Granted, the officers that work on his floor are gone often, so there’d been more empty desks, and less noise.

Steve steps out of the elevator and walks toward a door at the back of the room, trying to avoid stepping into the path of a woman with several files in her arms and an annoyed look on her face. Another man carrying three mugs of coffee almost runs into him, and Steve finds himself apologizing before he can stop himself. He makes it to his destination with his suit in-tact, thankfully, and he knocks on the door loudly.

“Come in!” A friendly voice sounds from the inside, and Steve steps in, looking over at the man sitting behind the desk near the window. He notices another man standing near the desk, his arms folded as he regards Steve. He shuts the door behind him and makes his way over to the desk as the man sitting gets up and moves around it to shake his hand.

“Phil Coulson, Captain of the homicide division. Fury told me quite a bit about you,” Phil says, firmly shaking Steve’s hand with a friendly smile on his face. Steve returns both the handshake and the smile, silently hoping that Fury had only told him good things.

“It’s great to meet you sir.” Steve responds, giving him a curt nod.

“Please, call me Coulson. I was never military like a lot of people here. ‘Sir’ just makes me uncomfortable.” Coulson lets go of his hand before gesturing to the man standing by his desk. “This is Gabe Jones, Captain of the cyber crime division.”

Steve moves forward, going to shake Jones’s hand as he smiles and does the same.

“If you’d like to call _me_ sir, by all means.” He laughs, giving Steve’s hand a firm shake before letting go and slipping his hands into the pockets of his dress pants. “God knows barely any of my guys do anymore.”

Steve returns his grin, replying easily. “Sure thing, I can do that.” Jones just laughs again. He has a nice laugh, Steve thinks, and he looks a little more laid-back than Coulson. He looks slightly younger too, but only by a few years.

“I like this one Coulson,” he says, turning his gaze toward Coulson while inclining his head toward Steve. “You sure I can’t steal him from you?” Coulson shakes his head a little, actually looking the tiniest bit sorry as he speaks.

“Can’t do that, Fury sent him directly here. But if you want to have words with him, be my guest.” He shrugs, gesturing towards the door with his hand. Jones makes a face in response.

“Nah, I have enough trouble with Fury as it is. You know he _still_ hasn’t forgiven me for that time I took his niece on a date?” Steve looks at him wide-eyed, imagining what kind of hell Fury put him through for that. Jones just nods at him, giving him a look that Steve recognizes as _‘yeah-it’s-as-bad-as-you’re-thinking’_. “Didn’t know who she was, showed up at her door, and guess who answers?” Steve’s mouth drops open as he imagines.

“No.” He utters, wondering how he’d feel if he showed up to his date’s house only for Fury to answer the door.

“Yes.” Jones responds, spurred on by the shocked look on Steve’s face. “She told me her dad was in the military, was overseas, so her uncle wanted to meet me and make sure I was okay.” Gabe just sighs, shaking his head and looks at the ground. “Thing is, I _wasn’t_ okay after that.”

Coulson looks like he’s trying not to laugh. Steve wants to know more, to ask what happened, but before he can Jones is shrugging and looking up at Coulson. “Whelp, what’s in the past is in the past. Mauvais quart d’heure,” he says casually, walking past Steve and toward the door. “I’ll let you both get to it then. It was nice meeting you Steve.” Jones smiles at him as he opens the door and Steve returns it.

“It was nice meeting you too, sir.” He replies, and Jones’s smile turns into a grin before he looks over at Coulson.

“Oh I’ll steal him from you Coulson. Watch your back.” He jokes, shutting the door behind him with one last “See ya.”

Coulson looks amused as he shakes his head. “He makes the tough days a little easier,” he states, turning back toward his desk and sitting down. Steve walks over to stand in front of it, waiting for instruction.

“So, Steve. I know you got a file yesterday, have you looked over it?” Coulson pulls a file in front of him that had been sitting to the side, glancing up at Steve as he does so.

“Of course sir- uh, Coulson. Sorry, that’ll take some getting used to.” Steve can’t help his sheepish smile. Coulson is technically his boss after all, he’s used to being formal in these situations.

“It’s alright.” Coulson offers a reassuring smile in return. “What do you think?” He asks, looking back down at the file on his desk, and Steve’s mind returns to the file he’d read over last night. All night, actually. He’d known going with no sleep on his first day probably wasn’t the best idea, but he’d wanted to memorize the information, to draw what conclusions he could from it.

The file was on a missing person’s case- a seventeen-year-old girl named Bonnie Ambley who’d gone missing three years ago. She’d gone out to meet with some friends and missed her curfew. After her parents called around, they found out she’d gone back to her best friend’s house after meeting with their other friends and called someone for a ride home. No one knew who she’d called; except the best friend, Connie Morrison. When questioned, Connie was only able to tell police that Bonnie had referred to the person as “Ed”, and it had been the first time she’d ever mentioned them.

Connie had seen a black jeep pull up outside and had watched Bonnie get into it from her bedroom window, but that was all she had caught. She did tell police that her friend said she knew “Ed” and seemed completely comfortable with having them give her a ride home, but apparently that comfort was misplaced, because Bonnie has been been missing since that night.

Steve had been fully invested in the file- until he remembered that he’d been assigned to homicide. He’d then spent a good portion of time wondering why he’d been given a missing person’s case when he’s supposed to be focused on more clear-cut cases. The ones where people are…well, _worse_ than missing. He’d decided after a while that they must have had a reason for giving it to him, and he continued to study the case thoroughly, but now would be a good time to ask their motives as any.

“Sir, I mean, _Coulson_ ,” he starts, and Coulson gives him an encouraging smile. “I couldn’t help but wonder why I’m being given a missing person’s case?”

“It’s your first official case as a detective. We want to give you something that will let you get your bearings,” Coulson replies, watching Steve carefully. “This is a cold case, so we’re essentially re-opening it to see what you’ll do. Consider it like riding a bike. We’re giving you training wheels for now, but soon enough you’ll be able to know what you’ll need to do with the homicide cases.”

Steve nods. As wary as he’s been about this promotion, he also has to admit its been exciting to think about. He wants to jump right into the cases he’s _supposed_ to be doing, but then again there’s the chance that he could mess something up and then be demoted and put right back where he was. He doubts he would, but…maybe some training would be good.

“I think the best friend knows something.” Steve answers Coulson’s earlier question, shifting so a hand rests on his waist while the other moves to rest on the desk in front of him. He isn’t really sure what to do with them, but he can’t really leave them at his sides. The combination of first-day jitters and the extremely strong coffee he’d had this morning has left him a bit shaky, and he’d rather not let Coulson notice.

“Hmm…she might.” Coulson folds his arms and leans back in his chair, switching seamlessly into the new line of conversation. “But she hasn’t told police anything if she does. What makes you think she knows something?” Coulson looks back up at him curiously, and Steve doesn’t let any doubt seep through his expression as he replies.

“They’d known each other since they were in kindergarten, they’d never stopped being friends or drifted apart. Everyone who was asked said that they were like sisters. I don’t think “sisters” would keep things from each other. It doesn’t make sense that Bonnie wouldn’t have told Connie about this person.” Steve states, looking down at the file in front of Coulson. It’s the same one he has. Coulson gives a hum, turning over a page to look at more information.

“Well you might be surprised. Even so, the police interviewed her thoroughly, multiple times, and she said she didn’t know anything. She seemed just as upset as everyone else by her friend’s disappearance, too.”

“I know, but what if she was trying to hide something for her friend?” Steve suggests, knowing that the possibility had probably already been investigated and ruled out. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling. The whole thing didn’t add up.

“Here’s the thing,” Coulson replies, leaning forward in his seat. “There was nothing _to_ hide, at least not that we found. She texted this person regularly, called them every once in a while. Granted, she isn’t friends with anyone named “Ed” on Facebook, but that doesn’t mean much.” Coulson looks back up at Steve before giving a shrug. “She was a good student, was involved in after-school activities, was part of the choir at her church…she doesn’t really seem like the type to have things to hide, does she?”

Steve looks down in thought for a moment, his brow furrowing. He doesn’t really want to disagree with his boss on the first day, but he can’t really go without voicing his ideas, especially on something so important. “No...but she _was_ keeping this relationship a secret. The cell phone records that were retrieved listed that the number she’d called that night lead to a phone with no I.D. That means it was most likely a prepaid phone. “Ed” was trying to keep his identity a secret. I don’t think we should completely rule out the possibility that she was hiding something. Stranger things have happened, and this is the only lead that makes sense.”

Coulson smiles at him a little, before he sighs and looks back down at the file, his expression slipping into something more tired and sad. “It’s not the _only_ possibility though,” he starts, looking back up at Steve. “Someone could have gotten her to feel comfortable with them. Given her a name, a backstory. Could have befriended her at church, or anywhere really. Then when he saw his opportunity, he took it.”

Steve is silent for a moment. He’d thought of this possibility, too, and it was one that made his heart sink and his stomach roil. Even still, it doesn’t completely make sense to him. Besides, he’d rather thoroughly rule out the option that she could still be out there somewhere, safe, and only jump to the worst conclusions if he absolutely has to. It’s likely a rookie way of thinking, but Steve can’t help it. He’s never been a pessimist, and his positive way of thinking has seeped into his work many times before. It hasn’t failed him so far, but now with the stakes raised he’s starting to wonder if he’s in the wrong line of work.

“It still doesn’t make sense to me.” Steve shakes his head, looking back down at the girl’s picture in the file. “Why would Bonnie need to call this person to get a ride when she was at her friend’s house? Connie could have given her a ride, or Connie’s parents. That she’d want to call this person for a ride…it doesn’t make sense. And that her friend wouldn’t try to make her stay, or make her get home a different way, especially when she doesn’t know this person her friend is talking about. She also didn’t make sure her friend got home okay. What kind of best friend does that?” Steve is so focused on his thoughts that it takes him a moment to realize Coulson is smiling at him again.

“When she was interviewed, the friend had some pretty great excuses for why she didn’t do any of those things. But maybe you can get something else out of her.” Coulson closes the file and nods toward Steve. “Go and listen to the interview tapes, write things down, try to remember everything she said. If you really think the best friend is the missing link in all of this, then it’ll be your responsibility to get her to open up.” He rises from his seat then, reaching out a hand. “You’ll be working with Morita on this case. I hope to see you do well, Rogers.”

Steve smiles, shaking his hand. “Thank you, Coulson.”

* * *

 

 

Steve heads to the briefing room after getting settled in at his desk. It’s definitely nicer than his old one, he has a view (granted it’s only of the street below and the building across the street, but at least he has one), and his seat is actually cushioned, none of that hard plastic he’d had before. Not that he’d ever spent enough time at his desk to warrant complaining, but to him it’s the principle of the thing.

Cushioned desk chairs- he’s certainly moving up in the world.

He only sees two other detectives sitting in the briefing room as he enters, and he briefly wonders where he should sit before deciding to take a seat a bit more toward the back. As he’s walking to his seat, the other detectives notice him, and they both stare at him. They both look at least a few years older than Steve, maybe in their mid-30’s, and he wonders if he should introduce himself so he can find out more about his senior detectives. He changes his mind quickly though, something about the way they stare at him unnerving him a little.

Neither of them say anything at first, and Steve hopes that he can get by them quietly, but then one is touching his finger to his lips before pointing at him.

“You Stark’s guy?” One blond brow is raised on the man’s face as he looks questioningly at Steve, the darker haired man sitting next to him choosing to stay quiet for the time being. Steve stops walking and gives the blond one a little smile while he shakes his head no, unsure of what kind of reputation he has now thanks to Stark, but sure that being referred to as “Stark’s guy” probably isn’t the best thing.

“No…well, I did find Stark’s car, but…” Steve gives a shrug, “I didn’t really ask for the promotion.”

The brunette scoffs a little while the blond just grins. “Well, as long as you didn’t ask for it.” He says, sarcasm clear in his voice.

“Oh it's an honor, believe me. I just wasn’t expecting it,” Steve replies, noticing the crutch leaning against the table next to the brunette. He doesn’t leave his gaze on the crutch for long, though, realizing that he’d already probably offended them with his words. He doesn’t want to make things worse. They’d both probably worked hard to get where they are now, and here’s Steve, getting fast-tracked by a billionaire and saying he never asked for this. That’s all true, of course, but they probably wouldn’t understand his initial hesitation or his new-found willingness to work.

They both give him assessing gazes for a moment before the blond speaks up again.

“I’ve met Stark, I don’t think you _can_ know what to expect from him,” he states, then he’s extending a hand toward Steve, which Steve is only happy enough to shake. He’d rather not piss anyone off his first day. “Jack Thompson. That’s Sousa,” he states, inclining his head toward the other man.

Sousa smiles a little and reaches his own hand out for Steve to shake. “Daniel Sousa. Not that we go by first names around here.” He then directs his attention to Thompson, giving him a slightly annoyed look. “And I can introduce myself you know.” Thompson just shrugs.

“Steve Rogers.” Steve introduces himself with a little smile, though only Thompson catches it. Sousa is too busy rolling his eyes at Thomspon.

“Good to meet you, Rogers. Hope you stick around for a while.” Thompson’s words are polite, but his tone and expression convey more of a challenge, as if he’s wondering if Steve is actually up to this job. Steve knows he can’t expect to have respect so early on, so he simply smiles back and nods.

“I plan to.” His own tone is sure and delivers nothing but confidence. While Thompson’s gaze turns assessing again, Steve decides to continue toward his seat. He parts with one last “Nice meeting you, fellas,” before walking off. As he sits down, he overhears Thompson and Sousa bicker in lowered voices, and he lets himself smile, suddenly feeling less intimidated by the more experienced detectives.

People begin to drift into the room not long after, suit after suit entering the door, and Steve takes each of them in, committing their faces to memory. At one point, a man who looks to be of East Asian descent enters and meets Steve’s gaze before giving him a smile. Steve can only look at him in confusion before the man makes his way over to him and reaches out his hand. Steve gets up and smiles back, taking his hand and giving a firm shake.

“Steve Rogers,” the man says, his whole demeanor friendly and laid-back. It makes Steve relax a little more. “I’m Jim Morita. I’ll be working with you on the missing person’s case.”

Steve feels some relief from his previous nerves at getting to meet his partner. Morita seems like a nice enough guy based on first impressions. He’ll count his blessings. At least he didn’t end up with Thompson, he thinks.

“Good to meet you. I’m looking forward to working together,” Steve nods, keeping his tone professional. It’s pretty much his default tone-of-the-day, one that he’d used often his first day of being an officer. He’d learned quickly while in the army to take everyone seriously, and to speak to everyone with respect. Unless they ended up not deserving his respect after getting to know them, like Private Hodge. He’d been such a jackass.

“Yeah, same here. And don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll do fine.” Morita gives him a little wink before gesturing to the empty chair beside Steve. “Mind if I sit?”

Steve just shakes his head and says “No, go ahead,” before moving so that Morita can sit down. Steve takes his original seat and wonders when they should start talking about the case. Should he bring it up now? Or should he wait until everyone has been briefed on their own missions? Really, there isn’t a point in him being here, but Coulson had asked him to sit in on the meeting so that he could at least experience one, so Steve had agreed.

He decides to wait until after the meeting when he sees Morita lean back in his chair and pull out his phone. Instead, he continues to watch as people enter the room, wondering when Coulson will enter so they can start the meeting. He gets a few gazes turned toward him as he sits there, and from what Steve can tell, they range from curious to a bit hostile. Most of them fall somewhere in between, and he decides that he most likely does have a reputation now thanks to Stark. He hasn’t even gotten to do anything yet, and people have decided what Thompson seemed to think earlier- that he’s been handed this job and he has no right to be here. Great.

Suddenly, Steve spots a younger face entering the room, and his brows furrow in confusion. Everyone coming into the meeting so far had appeared to be noticeably older than him, which made sense to Steve because everyone had most likely worked a lot longer than he had to get where they are now. But this guy…

He can’t be much older than Steve, if at all. In his late 20’s, Steve figures, just like him. He looks to be about the same height as Steve, too, with slightly tousled dark brown hair that looks to be just a bit longer than his own. He looks sure of himself, like he knows exactly where he is and where he’s supposed to go. _So he’s not in the wrong room or just sitting in as an outside observer_. Steve notices that he stops and talks to one of the other detectives easily, laughing at something the other man says before patting him on the shoulder and continuing to an open seat. The open seat is between two other detectives, and they grin up at him as if they were expecting him. He says something and takes his seat, immediately starting a conversation with them both.

Steve had thought that he’d be the youngest person in this department, but it appears he might have been wrong. He can’t help but be immensely curious about this guy. How did he get to be a detective while so young? How long has he been a detective? And how did he get the respect and camaraderie of other detectives when he looks like he’s barely older than Steve? He’s obviously been in the department for quite a while if he’s developed that kind of friendly, laidback relationship with the older detectives on the force. But then who gets promoted _that_ young?

Unless he isn’t that young, of course. Steve could be mistaken. Maybe he’s just one of those guys with really good genes? Someone who looks younger than their actual age.

Still, for some reason, something tells Steve this isn't the case. And Steve again wonders how this guy had gotten to be a detective when he’s the same age as Steve, because Steve had been a one-of-a-kind case. It’s not like Stark is just giving out promotions left and right…is he?

Before Steve can think any more on it, Coulson calls the room to order. Steve hadn’t even noticed that he’d entered the room, too caught up in his own thoughts. He makes a mental note to not get distracted that easily again. It won’t really help him with his detective work if he can’t even notice when his boss is standing at the front of the room.

The meeting doesn’t take too long. There aren’t that many people in the room to get new cases, and Steve and Morita already know about theirs, so Coulson doesn’t bother bringing it up. He _does_ however introduce Steve to everyone in the room, which makes Steve very uncomfortable. He doesn’t let it show though, and he just smiles politely, letting his eyes meet a few other curious gazes. At least Coulson doesn’t make him stand up or anything, something that Steve is grateful for.

He does notice from the corner of his eye that the other young detective in the room looks back at him when Coulson introduces him, but Steve doesn’t meet his gaze. He doesn’t really meet anyone’s gaze, instead doing a general sweep of the room as he nods, before settling back on Coulson. He doesn’t know how his newfound reputation sits with everyone in the room. Anyone could be one of the guys who’s already biased against him, and while normally Steve wouldn’t back down from a quip or an insult, he knows that this is more than a spat with some guy back in school or the army. These are his coworkers, and he’ll need to at least be able to have mutual tolerance with most of them if he wants to get by. He won’t be able to do that if he tries to stand up to all of them the first day. He’ll have to prove himself through hard work, and that’s alright with him. It’s something he’s done before.

When the meeting is finished, Steve gets up along with everyone else, and then walks out with Morita as he starts talking to him about their case. They end up at Morita’s desk, and Steve stands next to it with his own file in hand while Morita sits in his chair and idly flips through the pages of the file he has. Morita has read through the case himself, and while he doesn’t completely agree with Steve’s suggestion that the best friend may be hiding something (he aligns more with the ideas Coulson had- that someone probably gave the missing girl a false identity and then gained her trust), he doesn’t discount it. In fact, he decides they may as well try that route first, so they can rule it out completely. He and Steve then spend the rest of the day thoroughly going over the interview tapes together, as well as any other information they find on the best friend.

When the clock strikes 7, and Steve’s head is hurting from all the information he’s been stuffing into it, Morita gets up, stretches, and says “Let’s call it a day, huh?”

“Sure, sounds good to me,” Steve replies with a relieved smile, laying the file he’d been looking over back on Morita’s desk. Morita grins at him before reaching out to pat his shoulder a couple of times.

“You did good today, Rogers. Better at memorizing stuff than me, that’s for sure. I can’t even remember my mom’s birthday most of the time,” he jokes, organizing the files on his desk for tomorrow. “She never lets me off easy, either.”

Steve laughs and grabs the files he’d been looking through before walking off to his desk to set them down. “Well good thing we’re allowed to write stuff down then,” he replies, turning to grin back at Morita. “Maybe you should try doing that with your mom’s birthday.”

Morita laughs, shaking his head, “Nah man, she’d find out somehow and I’d still get shit for not remembering. She’s brutal.” He smiles fondly despite the words, getting his stuff together. Steve’s glad that he’s looking away, because the conversation makes him think of his own mother, and he’s sure the expression on his face isn’t a pleasant one.

He can’t help but feel jealous of Morita, and at the same time miss his mam like crazy. It’s been a while since he’d lost her, _it’ll be five years in June_ , he thinks to himself. But Steve still thinks about her every day. Still visits her grave on a weekly basis. Every Sunday, when Sarah would have gone off to church (a place Steve knew very well because she’d dragged him with her until he’d turned 16 and had a job as an excuse), Steve goes and talks to her. He tells her about his week, and his life in general. He tells her that he hopes she’s doing well and that his dad is, too. Even when his heart misses her so much that it physically aches, he at least takes comfort in knowing they’re together.

Sarah would talk about Steve’s dad all the time, and tell Steve stories about when he was little. She would say how his dad had been such a good father to him, and talk about how much he loved him. Steve doesn’t really remember him, he’d been two when his father was killed in action, but he feels like he knows him because of all the things Sarah had said. _“He was such a good man,”_ his mom would sometimes say, her expression usually growing wistful and a bit sad, and Steve would just kiss her on the cheek and say _“And you’re such a good mam.”_

That would always make her smile again.

Steve makes himself snap out of his thoughts before he can get too emotional. He’d rather not tear up in front of Morita, if he can help it, especially not on the first day of being his partner. He focuses on packing up his stuff, though it doesn’t take long- he’d be leaving most of the things he’d brought today on his desk. He’s just finishing up when Morita picks up his satchel and looks over at him.

“Hey, you wanna head out and grab a drink together? First one’s on me, since it’s your first day.”

Steve is a little surprised at the sudden offer, but he feels a sense of relief at it too. He’d thought that he and Morita were getting along, so he’s glad that Morita likes him enough to invite him out for a drink. Plus it’s one less person he has to prove himself to now. A little nagging feeling in the back of his mind tells him that he probably shouldn’t go, since he’d been up all night and he’s had a pretty long day. He decides to ignore his better judgement for tonight though. After all, he doesn’t really want to turn down his new partner after their first day of working together. So he accepts, and they leave the building together before getting in their separate cars and meeting up at a bar a few blocks away.

Steve’s never been to this particular bar before, but he likes it as soon as he walks inside. It’s an Irish pub, with dark woodwork throughout and a simple, no-frills feel. It reminds him of the bar that he and Sam usually go to for drinks near his home in Brooklyn. He mentions this to Morita, and he smiles.

“Yeah, I don’t find too many bars I like in Manhattan, so this one’s my usual haunt.”

They get seats at the bar and Steve decides that since he’s in an Irish pub he may as well get a pint of Guinness. They sip at their beers and talk, exchanging life stories and how they got to where they are. Steve learns that Morita is originally from Fresno, but that he’d moved to New York with his wife when her job required her to transfer. He wasn’t too keen on leaving the force in Fresno, but he likes New York well enough, and he’s made new friends while working for the NYPD. Steve also learns that Morita had been in the army (though he knows a lot of officers had been in the military before joining the force), and they talk about their times served and share a little about their experiences.

Steve ends up talking about himself quite a bit too, and when Morita learns about Steve’s mother he immediately apologizes for what he’d said earlier. Steve shakes his head and tells him not to worry about it. “You had no idea, it’s okay.” He can tell Morita still feels bad though, because he buys him a second pint.

They loosen up and laugh at things a little easier when they’re both halfway through their second drink, and it’s then that Steve decides that Morita might be his best bet to get more information about the guy he’d seen earlier during their meeting. He doesn’t really know how to go about bringing it up, but he figures he can just do it casually and Morita won’t question it. He waits for a small lull in the conversation to ask, after they both laugh at Steve’s story about the time he’d saved an 80-year-old woman’s cat from a tree, only for her to try and flirt with him and then set him up with one of her 7 granddaughters.

“Hey, so…at the meeting earlier, there was a guy.” Steve looks over at Morita, and he just stares back at him. Steve realizes quickly he’ll have to elaborate a little more after remembering that there’d been _quite a few_ different guys at the meeting earlier, and that there’s no way Morita could possibly know which guy he was talking about. “He uh, he looked about my age…” Steve is about to describe him further when Morita looks like he understands him and nods.

“Oh, yeah, you’re talking about Barnes.” _Barnes._ Why does that name sound familiar?

Morita continues despite Steve’s suddenly confused expression. “He’s been in homicide for…I dunno, four, five months?”

Steve’s eyes widen. _Four or five months?_ Why did he seem to get along with everyone in homicide then? Is it only going to take Steve four or five months to prove himself to everyone, too? Because he has the feeling it’s not going to happen that easily. He’d thought he would have to work for at least a year or so before anyone might respect his position as a detective, and maybe even longer for everyone to be as friendly toward him as they seemed to be toward Barnes.

Although, he supposes, Morita and Coulson seem to like him well enough. So maybe it isn’t _that_ hard…

“Yeah, he got promoted after being an officer for about two years. Youngest guy to ever be promoted to homicide detective. Well, ‘til you.” Morita smiles, tilting his beer toward Steve. Steve just stares back, his confusion deepening. Who _is_ this guy? How did he get up the ranks so quickly? Granted, Steve had only been on the force for a little over three years himself before being promoted, but his case is pretty unique.

“Actually, maybe he’s still the youngest. Not really sure how old he is.” Morita finishes off his beer before letting out a loud exhale of breath and putting the bottle down on the bar. Suddenly, he turns to Steve with a curious look. “How old are you again?”

“27.” Steve replies, taking a big swig of his Guinness.

“Jesus,” Morita mutters, turning to look straight ahead. “You guys make me feel ancient.” He gets the attention of the bartender and orders another beer for himself. Steve smiles, setting down his beer. He decides not to have another after this. He still has to drive home and he’s not sure he wants to drive on no sleep and more than two pints of beer in his system.

“How old are _you_?” Steve asks, watching as the bartender sets down another beer in front of Morita.

“39. Which shouldn’t feel that old, but if any more of you kids show up I’m gonna seriously think about asking to retire. I’ll be at the new retiring age anyway.”

Steve laughs. “Well I’m sure your wife will love that, at least.”

“Yeah, and then when I’m home she can just fire our housekeeper and make me do all the work. No thanks.” Morita grimaces, taking a swig of his beer. Steve smiles, looking back down at his glass, his beer now almost finished.

“So, uh…do you know how he got promoted? Barnes, I mean.” Steve drinks some more of his beer and glances at Morita, trying to bring up Barnes again as casually as possible. Morita looks over at him, surprised, and Steve wonders if he wasn’t as casual as he’d hoped he was being.

“You mean you don’t know?” He says, looking at Steve in disbelief. Steve just stares back dumbly.

“Know what?”

Morita’s expression settles into something slightly less critical as he takes a sip of his beer, but he still seems to be disbelieving of the fact that Steve doesn’t know who Barnes is.

“He’s kinda famous in the department,” he explains, looking back at Steve. “Well, kinda famous in _more_ places than the department. He was in the paper. Most of them, actually.”

Steve thinks hard, wondering what he might have read about Barnes, and _something_ is at the forefront of his memory, but he can’t quite remember what it is.

Morita watches him, speaking again. “He caught Alexander Pierce.”

And then Steve’s memory ‘ _clicks’_ into place. He remembers now, hearing about Barnes, and reading about him in the Times. On Steve’s behalf, his name wasn’t mentioned much, and even when he’d heard about him he had mostly been referred to as “that rookie officer over in Lower Manhattan.” His old precinct had been abuzz back in February with the news that Commissioner Pierce had been arrested. The whole of the NYPD had been abuzz. It was a huge scandal.

Pierce, who’d been Police Commissioner for five years before his arrest, was known as a powerful, yet kind man who’d had a passion for keeping New York City safe. He was wealthy, and well-known for donating large amounts of money to multiple charities in the area. He was well-connected, well-respected, and seemed to be one of the best Police Commissioners the NYPD had ever had. That was, of course, until he’d been revealed to have gained a significant amount of wealth through less-than-legal means. He’d ended up having connections to several gangs, the mob, prominent drug dealers, and, from what Steve had heard, worse. He was arrested on multiple charges, including embezzling, which had led to a thorough financial investigation concerning the charities he’d been donating to, and which had revealed he’d been lying about several of those charities. It had turned out they were for-profit, and mostly profitable for him.

Steve had hardly been able to believe it, but it was almost even harder to believe that some young officer had been the one to bring him down. He’d heard different stories from his coworkers, but from what he’d read in the New York Times, officer Barnes had been at the scene of a bank robbery in Lower Manhattan when he’d noticed a black van parked down the street. He’d taken down the license plate shortly before it drove off, and when he later ran it he began the first of many discoveries that led him to different leads. It started out with a wanted fugitive and then to the mob, and then eventually to Jasper Sitwell, who’d been Alexander Pierce’s secretary at the time. When they brought Sitwell in for questioning, he cracked and gave them everything in return for a lighter sentence.

 _Everything_ had been Pierce’s involvement in the local criminal underground. How he’d been sponsoring different groups in return for protection and “favors”. How he’d have them do his dirty work for him, like threatening the competition to his business empire or getting him certain things he wanted from the black market. Of course, Sitwell hadn’t known the whole story at the time, Pierce kept certain secrets from him, but he was involved enough to tell the police what they’d needed to know. Pierce was then arrested and after the NYPD investigated every detail about his life and presented all of the evidence in court, he had received enough sentences to keep him in prison for longer than he could possibly live.

Steve had remembered being completely baffled for days after reading the story. He’d wondered how Barnes had managed to notice the van when no one else had, and why he’d thought it was important enough to keep looking into. He thought about how far he might have gotten on his own before he felt the need to bring someone higher-up into it, and what Steve himself would have done in the same situation. He’d wanted to know more about it, but he’d accepted it as one of those mysteries he just wouldn’t ever get to solve, and had moved on with his life. Now, just months after reading that story, he might be able to get some of his questions answered. If Barnes even wanted to talk about it with him, of course.

“I remember hearing about him now,” Steve finally replies, after having gone silent for what felt like a whole minute. “I just didn’t remember because the paper I read only mentioned his name once, and the guys at my old precinct just mentioned him, but they didn’t bring up his name.” Morita nods in understanding.

“Yeah, he should’ve gotten more recognition than he did, but the big story was on Pierce himself. How he went down and who was responsible for it was only important in the beginning. After they started digging up more and more about him, what he did became the focus.” Morita shakes his head a little, then gets a subdued smile. “Guess I shouldn’t say Barnes didn’t get nothing out of it though. I mean, look where he is now.”

Steve nods, finishing off his beer.

* * *

 

 

As he drives back home, Steve thinks about how much more understanding he is of his own reputation. Sure, he hadn’t asked Stark for the promotion, but he didn’t turn it down. And no one really knew that Fury had been on-board with it, or that he’d been told that his skills would be useful. They all probably heard that Stark had thrown a fit over the phone and now some young guy had been fast-tracked to their department.

Barnes, on the other hand, had accomplished something monumentally impressive. He’d more than shown his value as an officer and displayed the kind of intuition and initiative that are valued in detective work. It makes complete sense now why the other detectives would respect him and consider him an equal. Steve doesn’t feel too optimistic about the chances that he’ll be given an opportunity to be able to earn that kind of respect any time soon.

Far be it from him to not even try though. That’s definitely not who Sarah Rogers’ son is.

He gets home that night and drops straight into bed, not even bothering to change out of his clothes. Sleeping in a suit isn’t the most comfortable thing, but he doesn’t even notice at this point, his mind and body both too exhausted to even begin to consider changing. He does have enough energy to think one last, determined thought before he slips off into sleep, however.

He’s going to prove them all wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: Mauvais quart d’heure is a French saying that translates to “Bad quarter of an hour.” It refers to an experience that didn’t last very long, but was not fun.
> 
> The next chapter of this story will be up next week (most likely a week from today). Also, I've never written Thompson or Sousa before, but I felt like they would be fun to include. Note that I will joke about Thompson sometimes, but I do love him! He can just be a butt-face, so I like poking fun at him.
> 
> Thanks for reading! :)


	2. “So what do you think of the new guy?”

**B** ucky Barnes stares at his coffee maker, watching as the machine continues to steam and no coffee makes its way into the carafe. He glares, willing it to work, even though it had done the same thing this morning and yesterday morning too. He knows, deep down, that he’ll have to buy another one. It’s just that he really doesn’t want to. Not because he can’t afford it or anything. No, he’s been doing pretty well for himself lately. He has his own one bedroom apartment in Brooklyn, he’s got heating and air conditioning (which is better than his last apartment, which felt like it couldn’t keep in _any_ of the heat from his space heater in the colder months and felt like the very depths of hell all summer), and he’d bought his own car. A newer model, that gets great gas mileage even in the city. He’d gotten all of those things himself, despite his parents offering to help. And he’s proud of how far he’s gotten.

He’s proud of this little coffee maker.

It might be ridiculous, but it had been the first one he’d ever bought with his own money, and after 5 years it really isn’t a surprise that it’s finally broken down, especially for how cheap he’d gotten it. Bucky has just grown attached to it, and he sighs at himself, because how ridiculous is that? Getting sentimental over a damn coffee maker…

He frowns as he unplugs it and then drops the whole thing into the trash. He’ll have to ask Clint where he can find one of those Keurig things.

The very prospect of suffering through tonight without some form of caffeine in his system is horrid, and Bucky slips on a jacket before stepping out and walking down the street to the café on the corner. He orders a coffee to go and then makes his way back to his apartment. Clint said he’d be there in about thirty minutes, so Bucky figures he has time to shower and change his clothes and fix his hair a bit. He’ll have to guzzle down his coffee as he goes.

Clint arrives almost an hour later, as Bucky is putting on some deodorant, and he lets himself in, knowing there’s a spare key hidden under the mat at his neighbor’s door. Natasha had liked Bucky’s idea of swapping keys and hiding them under each other’s mats, and they’ve been doing it since Bucky moved in three months ago. He doubts she’d let anyone else know where her spare key is, but they’ve been friends since the sixth grade, so Bucky is one of the few people trusted enough to have access to her apartment. Besides, she’d been living in the building for a year before she convinced Bucky to move in, and she’d gotten tired of hiding her spare key in the vending machine in the apartment lobby. Bucky still doesn’t know how she got it out, but he did notice the Hubba Bubba always ran out really quickly.

“Hey! Ready to go?” Clint calls out, making his way down the hall toward the bathroom.

“Yeah, just gimme a couple minutes,” Bucky replies, running a comb through his hair before mussing it up a bit with his fingers. Really, he shouldn’t care all that much about how he looks, being that he’s not really excited about going out with Clint tonight. But Bucky Barnes doesn’t do nights out on the town without putting _some_ effort into his appearance, and so he fixes his hair until it’s got that perfect messy look, and then he’s walking past Clint so he can go to his room and slip on his black leather jacket.

Clint whistles as he watches him from the doorway to his room, arms crossed and leaning against the frame.

“Careful Barnes, this night’s supposed to be about _me_ remember? The wingman can’t look better than the main event,” he states, gesturing downward and grinning. Bucky stops himself from rolling his eyes, but he does give Clint an unimpressed look. He is actually a little impressed, even if he won’t admit it. The last time they’d seen each other, Clint had a stain on his shirt from the jelly donut he had for breakfast and his fly was down. Right now though, Clint cleans up good with his black button down and a pair of dark, almost black jeans. He’s got the sleeves of his shirt rolled up so his forearms show, and he’s wearing black dress shoes. Bucky is a little freaked out by how he can go from frumpy cop to total stunner in just over an hour, but he decides not to think about it too much. It’s one of those things that would just keep him awake at night.

“Yeah, well if he didn’t look better, the _‘main event’_ wouldn’t have any girls to talk to,” Bucky quips, slipping on his boots. He’d elected to go a little simpler than Clint; black jeans, a dark blue v-neck and his trusted leather jacket. If he’s going to be dragged out of his apartment against his will he may as well be comfortable.

He straightens up from tying his boots to find Clint glaring at him, and he laughs.

“Kidding pal, you know I’m kidding.”

“I could get plenty of girls to talk to me…” Clint mumbles, turning away from the door and walking back down the hall. “And next time we get breakfast I’m not getting you any donuts!”

Bucky laughs.

* * *

 

Their ride to the first bar is mostly filled with Clint talking about work and Bucky not _wanting_ to talk about work, and the top 100 pop songs playing on the radio in between.

Clint doesn’t typically enjoy talking about work that much when they’re not on the job, but their case has gotten pretty intense, and Clint almost can’t stop talking about it now. Ever.

“I mean, who writes shit on the wall in the vic’s blood like that?” he says, looking over at Bucky, and Bucky wonders if they’ll make it to the bar alive or if Clint will distract himself enough to swerve into oncoming traffic. “It’s like...a horror movie-level murder y’know? Never seen anything like it.”

“Yeah, crazy people…” Bucky mumbles, only half-listening as he watches where they’re going because Clint clearly isn’t.

“Yeah, I mean, what the hell? Messed up man…” He trails off, looking back out at the road, and Bucky relaxes a little. “So what do you think of the new guy?”

The question is so sudden and so off-topic from what Clint had been ranting about before, that it takes Bucky a minute to realize what he’s talking about. Then he’s remembering blue eyes and blond hair and a strained yet polite smile from the meeting this morning.

 _Steve Rogers_. Coulson had introduced him and Bucky wasn’t going to turn and look, but everyone else was looking, and he had been suddenly curious at the attention this new guy was getting. When he _did_ look, the guy hadn’t been what he was expecting. He was expecting someone older-looking, firstly, just like every other person in homicide aside from himself. Secondly he hadn’t been expecting someone so…

Well, hot.

Really, Bucky’s first impression of the guy was that he could’ve been a model. For all he knows he could have been one before becoming a detective, but then that would have been a seriously weird career change, so he’d dismissed the thought for the most part. Bucky had let himself check Steve out a little, even though he couldn’t really see much thanks to the looser-fitting suit Steve was wearing and the table he was sitting at that obstructed his lower half from view. He knew better than to dwell too much on his new coworker’s attractiveness though. The last time he’d let himself be attracted to someone he worked with, they found out and started to tease him about it whenever they could.

Thompson could be such an ass.

Granted, Steve is most likely completely different, but still. It’s probably better to separate work and romantic interests. And really, he thinks, he probably wouldn’t have a chance with Steve anyway. He’s a new coworker, he’s just been promoted so he’s probably walking on eggshells, and he could be straight for all Bucky knows.

He considers Clint's question. Where does that leave Steve, in his opinion?

“’Dunno...seems alright I guess,” he states, staring out the window at the passing street.

“I heard from Ward that he got promoted ‘cause of Stark,” Clint says, glancing at Bucky’s face when he thinks Bucky doesn’t notice. “Seems pretty young…that doesn’t bother you?”

Bucky makes a face, looking over at him. “Why would it?”

“Well, it’s just that you worked hard to get where you are, y’know? And this guy suddenly got promoted because of Stark, and he could be the youngest guy to be promoted from cop to detective. What if he took your title?” Clint arches a brow, and Bucky has to make a concentrated effort not to roll his eyes.

“I got lucky, first of all,” he starts, looking back out the window so he doesn’t have to keep watching Clint watch him. “I followed a lead that I just happened to notice and it got me promoted. Right place at the right time. Second,” he turns to Clint again, giving him a serious look. “I don’t care about a goddamn ‘title’. If he’s the youngest guy to get promoted, more power to him. I couldn’t give less of a shit.” He finishes by looking at Clint so frankly that the other man has to smile and look away.

“Wow Barnes, don’t pull any punches do you?” Clint shakes his head, smile still on his face.

Bucky smirks, shrugs.

“Well, even if you’re not against him, he’s still gonna have plenty to prove,” Clint continues, signaling as he pulls the car into a free parking spot a couple of blocks away from the bar. “A lot of people are pissed that he got a free pass.”

“I’m not gonna judge him. And it’s stupid that people aren’t giving him a chance ‘fore they even know him,” Bucky replies, unbuckling his seatbelt. “All this fuckin’ drama. It’s like high school again.”

Clint laughs, taking his keys out of the ignition. “ _More_ drama than high school. Are you forgetting all the homicide? And don’t forget that asshat over in cyber crime.”

“You mean Rumlow?” Bucky grins, immediately picturing the dark-haired macho man who harasses him whenever he gets the chance. “Yeah, he’s a dick.”

“Only because you stole his job. But hey, he didn’t deserve it,” Clint remarks. “And it’s not like you meant to, either. You should really tell someone about him, y’know.”

“And what? Tattle to Coulson? Nah, I can handle Rumlow. He just whines a lot.” Bucky leans back against his seat, an annoyed frown on his face. Rumlow likes to give him crap whenever he can, on the basis that he thinks he deserves Bucky’s place in the homicide division. He’d gotten promoted just after Bucky did, and apparently he’d been wanting homicide for a long time, but there wasn’t a need for him, so he was trained for the cyber crime division instead. He would have been placed in homicide, had Bucky not chosen it before he did. He’s still bitter about it, but Bucky couldn’t care less. Rumlow was notorious for sucking up to higher-ups during his time on the force, and he’d been a jackass to anyone beneath him. Including Bucky, when he’d first started. But Bucky doesn’t have any desire to get back at him. He figures if Rumlow complains enough, maybe he’ll be demoted, and then Bucky won’t have to deal with him at all.

“Yeah, I know you can. But hey,” Clint sticks out a finger, pointing at Bucky, who stares at the finger two inches from his face. “You need someone to take him out, I know a guy.”

Bucky arches a brow. “Really? _You know a guy_? You’re a homicide detective, Clint.”

“What!? No, I meant get him changed to a different department, I meant get him out of the Plaza Barnes, jeez…” Clint shakes his head, looking shocked, and Bucky just smiles, seeing right through him. “What kind of a guy do you think I am?”

Bucky looks at him with a considering eye. “A...buff-master-archer-homicide-cop-ladies'-man?”

Clint looks at him, impressed, then nods. “Okay, I can agree with that.”

Bucky laughs. “C’mon man, let’s go to that bar.” He starts to get out of the car, but Clint grabs his arm, stopping him.

“Wait, what about that guy? Rogers?”

Bucky blinks, confused. “What about him?”

“Well don’t you want to find out if he’s okay? How do we know we’re not dealing with another Rumlow?”

Bucky stares. “Well first off, I didn’t take the job he wanted. Second, we could just talk to him? Like, y’know, normal people do?”

Clint stares back at him, apparently not appreciating his answer. “Barnes. Bucky. Partner. C'mon.”

Bucky is silent for a moment, wondering what Clint could possibly be thinking. “Okay. What do you wanna do?”

Clint smiles, and Bucky starts to feel nervous. “Remember when we first met?”

Bucky eyes him warily, thinking back to when he’d first met Clint five months ago. Is he talking about their first conversation? The first time they’d talked about a case together? Or maybe…

“No. I’m not doing that.”

“Aw, c’mon…” Clint implores, his face actually almost looking like a sad puppy’s.

“No Clint…I’m not helping you with one of your dumb pranks,” Bucky states, looking at Clint as sternly as he can. Clint looks back at him, a pleading expression on his face. They stare at each other for what must be a full ten seconds, until Bucky looks away, sighing.

“How do you think a prank will even help? What if he just gets mad? Like Hill?”

Clint frowns when he’s reminded of the prank he’d tried pulling on the captain of the narcotics division.

“She just…doesn’t have the sense of humor for it.”

“You made Coulson think she’s in love with him.”

“Well I didn’t think he’d really fall for it!” Clint exclaims. “I mean, who really thinks that people actually write love notes nowadays? And that they’d _accidentally_ leave their name on one of them instead of “ _your secret admirer.”_ Coulson’s a detective, for fuck’s sake, he should’ve figured it out.”

“Yeah, but Coulson’s kind of an innocent guy sometimes.”

“ _Innocent!?_ ” Clint shouts, and Bucky wonders if anyone walking by will wonder what the hell is going on in this car. “Do you remember what he said to me when he found out it was me?”

Bucky wants to grin, because he remembers perfectly. “’If you play any more games with me, I will taze you and watch Supernanny while you drool into the carpet?’”

Clint frowns, looking out at the car parked in front of them. “Who even watches Supernanny anymore?”

Bucky laughs, patting Clint’s shoulder. “Well, you learned your lesson didn’t you?”

Clint just smiles, looking back over at him. “Yeah, don’t pull shit on Coulson or Hill. But Rogers is a new guy. C’mon Barnes, it’ll be fun. It’s like a rite of passage. We’ll find out if he’s cool or not.”

Bucky stares hard at him. “And what if he doesn’t appreciate it? And you get into trouble again? And this time _I_ get into trouble too, ‘cause you dragged me into this with you?”

“I think if you can get over it, he will too. Besides, you know I never get into trouble if I’m just pranking one of the new guys. And I swear,” Clint raises his right hand, his face serious, “I’ll have your back on this one.” Then he’s smiling and getting out of the car, leaving Bucky with no choice but to follow.

“Yeah, ‘cause _that_ makes me feel _so_ much better.”

* * *

 

The bar is cramped, the music and people are loud, and the smell of perfume and cologne is overwhelming. Granted, it’s mostly perfume, but that doesn’t make Bucky’s nose feel any less assaulted. He knows he could have said no when Clint begged him to go to another bar after the first one hadn’t worked out, and he should have protested based on the fact that it’s a _Thursday_ and Bucky has to be at work at 9am tomorrow. But Clint had given him this look that would make Chief Fury think twice, and that’s why he’s now in a packed bar on Ladies Night, his friend off somewhere chatting with a brunette that had smiled at him a little too long.

 _Poor girl_ Bucky thinks, trying to find a head of dark blonde hair that will let him know where his friend went. He leans against the wall, sipping at his second rum and coke and taking solace in the buzz it’s giving him.

Suddenly he feels a hand on his shoulder, and he looks over to find a playful pair of green eyes looking back at him.

“Heya handsome. You wanna buy me a drink?” She purrs, eyeing him up and down.

Bucky smirks. “Sorry, I don’t give out freebies to people I don’t plan on sleeping with. Besides, I know you can afford your own, with your fancy social worker job an’ all.”

Natasha rolls her eyes, still grinning. “Yes, because it pays _so_ well,” she replies, looking around a bit. Bucky glances down at her little black dress and shiny Louboutins, feeling a surge of protectiveness go through him. He knows she probably has almost every guy in here interested. He also knows that she can definitely take care of herself. Even so, that’s never stopped him from looking out for her, and he knows that when she leaves he’ll be texting her to make sure she made it home safe.

“So,” she says, her husky voice somehow cutting through the loud music, “you here with your imaginary friend? What was his name…Lint?”

Bucky almost laughs, but manages to refrain. He’s been telling Natasha about Clint since he’d been partnered with him on his first assignment as a detective months ago, but they’ve always managed to just barely miss each other. The first time, he'd been hanging out with Clint at his place and then Clint left for the night and five minutes later Natasha knocked at his door. More recently, he and Clint were out at lunch during the work day and Clint went to go to the bathroom and Natasha, completely by coincidence, came in to get something to go and then had to leave before Clint got back. Bucky's beginning to think they'll never meet, because this has to be the fifth or sixth time they’ve missed each other. After the second time, she’d started teasing him about making Clint up. He knows she’s just kidding, but pretty soon she might actually think Bucky _is_ making him up, it’s getting that weird. He just really wishes they would meet already.

“It’s _Clint_ ,” he replies, “and he’s not just my friend, he’s my partner.”

“Ooh, so your imagination’s gotten friskier, huh Barnes?” She grins at him like a cat toying with its prey.

“You know what I mean,” Bucky replies, rolling his eyes at her. “And yeah, he’s here actually. He’s off flirting, I think. With an actual girl.” He tries to find him again, but the crowd is too thick.

“Wow, well at least one of you is gonna get some.”

“I’m not trying to tonight,” Bucky says, looking back at her. Her expression screams ' _uh-huh sure you’re not_ ,' and he raises a brow. “You’re one to talk. I don’t see you off with anyone.” She just smirks, eyes moving out over the crowd again.

“Don’t you worry. I will be.”

“Pretty confident about your game there, Nat,” Bucky replies, smirking a bit.

“Barnes, I have more game in my little finger than you have in your entire body,” she quips, looking back at him with an innocent smile.

“Not too sure about that. My entire body seems to be something plenty of people enjoy.” He grins, watching her as she breaks into a laugh.

“I’m sure they do, but I _don’t_ need to know that,” she states, looking at him with both fondness and disgust. He doesn't know if she realizes he's lying. She may be his best friend, and she does live next door, but Bucky'd been quite the charmer in high school and for a while after he'd joined up. She might still think he has an active sex life, that he hasn't been avoiding that kind of intimacy since returning from his last tour. 

“Got it. I won’t talk about mine, you won’t talk about yours.”

“Well, _mine_ just walked through the door,” she replies, her eyes locked on the entrance to the bar. Bucky peers through the crowd to try and catch a glimpse of who she might be talking about. His eyes spot a very confused, nervous looking man with dark shaggy hair near the entrance. “So if you’ll excuse me…” Natasha winks at him before trailing off toward the man, who's clearly looking around the room for her as best he can. Her hips swaying as she walks.

Bucky feels bad for the guy. She’ll eat him alive.

He sighs, finishing off his drink and wondering if it’s worth braving the crowd at the bar to get another. He decides he’d rather find Clint, and he sets his glass on some table while its occupants aren’t looking before moving through the crowd. He finds his friend after a few minutes, sitting at a table and leaning in to talk to the woman who’d smiled at him earlier. They both have flirty smiles on their faces as they speak, and she has her hand resting on his knee. He’s covering her other hand with his own on the table, and she doesn’t seem to mind one bit.

Bucky can’t help but grin, happy Clint has found someone that seems to like him a lot. He’s been trying to get back out there for a few months now, and he’d had to really psych himself up the first couple of times they’d gone out. Bucky remembers having to literally give him a pep talk before they went into their first bar together, after Clint had begged him to help him out “with the ladies.” At first, Bucky had been surprised and a little hesitant when Clint asked for his help, but when he learned more about Clint and what he’d been through last year, he’d felt determined to help him.

They hadn’t known too much about each other at first, other than Bucky’s very well-known involvement in the arrest of Commissioner Pierce, and his subsequent promotion from officer to homicide detective. But Clint is a pretty open-minded person, and he’d liked Bucky from the moment they’d met, so Bucky got to know him really well during their first couple of weeks working together.

Clint had told him all about his dog, his love of archery, the time he’d first pranked Coulson by filling the coffee maker in his office with dirt. He’d also told him about his ex-wife.

They’d met during Clint’s first year on the force. She was a waitress at a café he liked to frequent and he was “completely smitten” the moment he laid eyes on her. He was too afraid to say anything for months, and then one day his partner at the time, Jim Morita, pointed out the fact that if Clint wasn’t going to say anything, some other guy would. Clint went in the next day and asked her on a date.

They dated for two years before Clint popped the question, and they married the next Spring. After three years together, Clint brought up having kids, and she freaked out, saying she didn’t want to go through that. Clint said that he would be willing to adopt, but she shot him down, saying she absolutely did not want children. At first it had been hard for him to accept, because Clint had wanted kids since long before he’d met her, but then she got him a dog and he was okay for a while. He even accepted that he might never get to have kids, and he decided that if it was going to be that way, he’d just have to get ten dogs and then spoil them all rotten. She of course wasn’t going to have that, and so he settled with simply spoiling Lucky until he could convince her to get another dog.

That never ended up happening, because last January he’d come home to find her with another man.

She had been sorry, Clint told Bucky, and she said it was a mistake and it wouldn’t happen again. But Clint had been a detective for more than a year at that point, and he had noticed that things were off for a while.

“I saw stuff that was so obvious. I just didn’t want to see it, you know?” Clint had told him, and Bucky felt so angry at this woman he’d never met. Because who could hurt Clint like that? Clint was one of the best people Bucky had ever met, and he’d only known him for a couple of weeks.

Clint brought up things he’d noticed to his wife, and at first she’d gotten defensive, but eventually she broke down and told him the truth.

“She’d been sleeping with him on and off for two years.” Clint was sitting there dejectedly, like he still couldn’t believe it, and Bucky was surprised that he could talk about all of this without tearing up at least a little. “Sometimes even in our bed. She told me she didn’t love him, and that she didn’t even know why she kept going back to him. But at that point, I didn’t care. I couldn’t. Not if I wanted to stay sane.” Bucky wasn’t sure if there was anything more he could do for him besides listen. He’d wished there was. “I just loved her y’know? I loved her through so much, and even if she didn’t want kids, I didn’t care. I wanted to be with her. I guess she didn’t feel the same.”

Clint filed for divorce before he could change his mind. He moved out as soon as he could, and he never looked back. She kept calling and trying to get a hold of him, especially around Christmas, but Clint knew that he couldn’t give her another chance. He was too worried she’d just butcher his heart again.

So the next time Clint asked Bucky to help him learn how to date again, he was eager to help his friend out. It had taken a couple tries for Clint to even go /into/ a bar or a club, his nerves and the pressure too much for him at first, and those first couple times Bucky had simply taken him somewhere quiet for a drink, and they just hung out and talked.

Now Clint has come a lot farther than Bucky thought he would in just a few months, and he knows he can’t be too surprised, because Clint is outgoing and kind and funny and hot, and Bucky is only too happy and too proud of him. He feels a little proud of himself too, like a mentor or maybe a parent would. Or, he supposes, a little smile on his face, like a wingman.

Well, that was what Clint had asked him to be.

He turns and heads toward the bar, deciding that he has time to wait for a drink.

* * *

 

It turns out he hadn’t had to wait long. He had two drinks bought for him by two different women as he’d stood waiting near the bar, and he’d quickly decided that would be his hang-out place while Clint flirted with the pretty brunette who never left his side.

Half an hour later saw him with two more drinks down, and he’d begun to wonder if Ladies' Night was really directed toward the ladies, because he hadn’t bought one drink for a woman tonight yet he kept getting them for free. He was always thankful, of course, a free drink is a free drink, and he’d flirted with the women who’d paid for them. He’d smiled and given them compliments and charmed them until he was sure they’d go home with him if he asked. He took their numbers when they gave them to him, figuring that if he was feeling lonely in the next few days he might psych himself up to call one of them, but not really taking the idea seriously. He wasn’t here to get laid anyway, and he still had work in the morning.

So when midnight rolled around and he had been feeling sufficiently tipsy, Bucky had gone to look for Clint again, finding him plastered against the brunette’s back as he taught her how to play pool. Or maybe he was pretending to teach her and she was pretending not to know how to play. Bucky wouldn’t be surprised with the way she looked at him.

With that thought in his mind, he’d left the bar with a smile on his face, texting Clint to let him know he was heading home. The bar they’d ended up at was the second one they’d visited, and it wasn’t too far from his apartment. The walk home was actually kind of nice, the weather good and a surprising amount of people out and about despite the time. He managed to feel pretty safe, even in the dark, but then that could also be accredited to the familiar weight of the Glock 27 Bucky almost always has hidden on his person.

On his way back, he’d texted Natasha to ask how her date went, and she only texted back a winky face emoji, and Bucky knew what that meant. She was either still out…or she’d taken the date to her apartment. Bucky hadn’t really wanted to think about it, but the thought that she was interested in someone made Bucky smile. She, like Clint, deserves to find someone. He was glad both of his friends were having good nights.

Now, back at his apartment and flopping down on his couch, he wonders if he should be trying to find someone for _himself_. Not that he hadn’t had people in the past he’d been interested in. He’s been in relationships (though the longest one had lasted a grand total of two months, and that was before he'd ever joined the army), and he’s had dates and he’s kept in contact with people for longer than just one-night stands (even though he’s had a few of those too). But really, he’s never been serious about anyone. His mother chastises him, saying that he needs to give more people a chance. Natasha tells him he’s afraid of commitment, but then he just says the same to her because she never really keeps anyone around for long either, and she can’t disagree. Clint once asked him why he didn’t follow through with any of the people who’d shown interest in him when they go out, and he’d told him that it’s because they were trying to find someone for Clint and not him. But really, Bucky knows that isn’t the whole truth.

Bucky sighs, flopping his head back on the couch and staring at the ceiling.

Really…Bucky doesn’t know why he can’t keep a relationship. He’s thought about it a lot, and he’s come to the conclusion that it’s probably a mix of what Natasha says about him, his own issues with trust, and this feeling that he’s never going to find someone that will make him truly happy. When he’d first had that thought, it had scared the hell out of him. But really, as time went on, he’d noticed that anyone he was with just wasn’t doing it for him. Like they couldn’t understand him, or really relate to him. And Bucky has friends he knows relate to him on different levels. People who share his military experience, or his experience with loss. He’s even met people at work who have PTSD, like him. But besides maybe Natasha, he hasn’t known anyone he’s willing to give his trust to. To really get to know all of him.

Even his own family, who he loves with everything he has, doesn't really know him completely. He doesn’t let them, because they won't understand or be able to deal with him if he opens up to them. He knows how he is. And if they can't accept him after literally knowing him his entire life, how can people he’s just met? He sometimes thinks maybe he should take his mom’s advice to heart, and give people a chance, but he just doesn’t see the point. It seems like it would take too much time and too much energy. Besides, he’s got his job to suck both of those things from his life, why does he need a person to do that, too?

He’d talked about all of this with Natasha before, during one of their sleepovers that they’ve been having since they first became friends. It's never been something weird for them, even if his mom had disapproved at first, back when he’d been a kid and had asked if Natasha could stay the night. It took her a while to warm up to the idea, and even then she demanded they sleep in the living room, and she’d randomly come downstairs in the middle of the night to “get something to drink” or “make herself a snack.” After a while, she realized that their relationship was completely platonic, especially when Bucky got his first girlfriend at 15.

As they grew older, Natasha would sleep over once every month or so, or Bucky would go to her place. The only time they didn’t have their sleepovers was when Bucky was overseas. They’ve made up for lost time now that they live in the same apartment building. Bucky is thankful she’d convinced him to move in, because their sleepovers are something nostalgic and calming, and now he gets to experience that all the time.

A couple months ago they’d laid in the dark in the middle of Bucky’s living room, his mattress from his bed on the floor and everything quiet except the noise of the city seeping through the windows. They hadn’t spoken for a while, and as the minutes stretched on, Bucky had wondered if she’d fallen asleep. Then she’d taken a breath to speak, the small sound breaking through the trance-like quiet, and she’d said "Barnes. Why are you single?"

He’d laughed. The question was something he’d heard before from coworkers and friends he hadn’t known for that long. They’d ask with a little air of disbelief, like they couldn’t believe someone like him could really be on the market. He hadn’t expected it to come from her.

“I don’t know, why are you?” He’d asked, his voice joking and light.

“James,” she’d replied, her tone serious, and he looked over at her. Her face was partly illuminated by the moonlight coming in through one of the windows behind him, and he could see her eyes regarding him with a mix of curiosity and solemnity.

“’Dunno," he answered, but he knew as the silence that followed stretched on that she wasn’t going to take that for an answer, and he sighed, closing his eyes. “I guess…I just don’t want anyone.” He finally replied, hoping she could just understand and leave it like that.

“Why?” She asked, her voice strangely fragile, as if afraid to ask the question too loudly.

Bucky simply thought for a moment, letting the silence invade his senses again before replying. “I don’t think I’ll find someone I’ll wanna be with forever."

He didn’t hear anything from her for a while after that, and he didn’t open his eyes until he couldn’t take not seeing what expression was on her face. Then he opened them and let his head turn toward her.

She was wearing a thoughtful expression, and looking up toward the ceiling. Upon realizing she was being watched, she looked over at him.

“You’ll find someone.” She stated, her tone leaving no room for argument. And Bucky hadn’t wanted to argue, he really didn’t. But he disagreed.

“You don’t know that. Natasha…” He trailed off, trying to find the right words to express all of his thoughts and feelings on this subject. But he knew there weren’t, not really. “I feel like…no one understands me, and I know that’s such a fucking _teenager_ thing to say, that I should’ve gotten through that phase or whatever, but it’s true. I just don’t…feel like I’ll find anyone I can really let in. I mean _really_ let in. You’re the only one who’s gotten close, not even my family, after I came back…” He trailed off again, looking away. This wasn’t a conversation he’d really ever wanted to have. “I just don’t wanna trust anyone with myself.” He finally finished, his expression pained as he thought about the truth of his situation.

Natasha watched him for a few seconds before moving forward and wrapping her arms around his neck. She pulled his head to her chest, and he let her. Her warmth had calmed his thoughts again, and he sighed.

“If we’re both forty and we’re still single, we should just get married,” he said, and he could hear the amusement in Natasha’s voice when she answered.

“Okay. But you’re paying for the wedding.”

Now he sighs as he sits on his couch, thinking back to that conversation. He wonders if he really will end up married to Natasha twelve years from now. He also wonders what will happen if she finds love, and he doesn’t. He wonders if her future husband will still let her have sleepovers with him.

Probably not.

He stares at the ceiling, the silence around him calming. He feels a sudden weight on his lap, and he smiles a little.

“Whaddya think Dorothy?” He asks his cat, his hand coming up to find her head and stroking it. “Should I give more people chances?”

She nuzzles his hand and he lifts his head to look at her.

“Nah…you’d just get jealous, huh?” He laughs a little, continuing to pet her soft black fur as she purrs and basks in the attention. He continues to give her love for a few more minutes until he decides that he probably shouldn’t pass out on the couch, which is what will end up happening if he doesn’t get up soon.

“Okay, c’mon you.” He says, picking Dorothy up as he moves. She protests, but he ignores it, continuing to his bedroom where he sets her on the bed. She gets off of it, probably just to show that she doesn’t _have_ to stay where he puts her, and he strips off his clothes before putting on a pair of black sweatpants. He quickly goes into the bathroom to brush his teeth and wash his face before returning to his room, smiling at Dorothy as she sniffs his shirt, checking out his clothes that he’d left on the floor.

He sets the alarm on his phone after retrieves it from his pants pocket, and notices he's got a text from Clint. A smile is already on his face as he opens it.

_Sorry for ditching you man, see you tomorrow. Thanks for being my wingman tonight, I owe you like a MILLION donuts._

Bucky grins and shakes his head a little before setting his phone on the nightstand and slipping into bed. As he closes his eyes and gets comfortable, he feels Dorothy jump up, and he smiles again.

“Knew you couldn’t stay away for long,” he tells her, and he feels her come up to lay on his stomach, a warm weight that soothes him to sleep.

He does so thinking of all the maple bars he’s going to get Clint to buy him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will Steve and Bucky get to interact next time!? (Yes I promise they will)  
> Find out in the next chapter of Blood Red Burdens! (I mean I already told you but please read the next chapter anyway please do it)


	3. “There’s a reason this is a cold case…”

**S** teve wakes up to the feeling of a wet tongue against his face.

“Ugh…Jackson…stop…” he groans, reaching a hand out to push his dog’s face away. He cracks an eye open and peeks up at him, grimacing and wiping the slobber away from his face.

“Gross.”

Jackson pants happily at him, putting a paw on his shoulder. Steve smiles a little, unable to really be annoyed at him, and scratches at a golden ear. “Hey buddy.”

His cheerful lab laps up the affection for a moment before he leans down to lick at Steve’s face again and Steve laughs, turning his face away. “Okay, okay. Good morning to you too.” Jackson finally ceases his lick attack before turning and jumping off the bed. He plops down on the floor and begins to chew on his leg.

Steve yawns and lifts his head to look at the clock by his bed, groaning when he sees that it’s only 5:03. His head falls back to his pillow, and he contemplates whether or not it’d be worth it to go back to sleep for another hour. He makes the decision to get up and go for a jog, since he hadn’t gotten one in yesterday. Besides, he managed to get almost eight hours in since he pretty much passed out as soon as he came home. Jackson might need to be walked, too.

Steve’s eyes widen.

“Shoot!” He gets up quickly, throwing off his blankets. “Sorry Jackson,” he says, patting Jackson’s head as he walks by and heads out into the kitchen. Jackson follows him closely, his eyes looking up at him with hope.

“I know, I know pal. I was tired, I’m sorry.” Steve grabs the bag of dog food from the cupboard next to the fridge and quickly fills Jackson’s bowl. He puts it back and crouches next to Jackson as he eats, petting his back. “Sorry, I bet you were hungry, huh? Try not to eat too fast okay?”

Jackson ignores him, continuing to scarf down his breakfast. Steve can’t help but feel guilty, grimacing to himself as he stands up. He'll really need to start writing notes or something if he forgets simple things like feeding his only pet.

Sighing, he checks Jackson’s water, making sure he has enough of that at least, before heading off to the bathroom to brush his teeth and do his morning routine. Afterward he changes into some light jogging clothes, and when he returns to the kitchen Jackson is licking the bottom of his bowl, though Steve is sure that he’s pretty much already licked it clean. He chuckles to himself, grabbing the bag of food out of the cupboard and putting a little more into the bowl.

“Okay, you can have a little more since I dropped the ball this time. But you won’t want to go out for a jog with me if you eat too much, so let’s wait until we get back for you to eat more, okay?” Steve pats Jackson again, and he once again ignores him, quickly emptying his bowl. Steve smiles, putting away the food and going to slip on his running shoes.

When he comes back, Jackson is drinking his water, and Steve clips his leash onto his collar while he’s distracted.

“C’mon you. I’m sure you want to get out for a walk right?” Jackson stops drinking and looks up at him when he hears the “w” word, and Steve laughs. “Okay, let’s get goin’ then.”

They jog for a good thirty minutes, Steve having to stop a few times so that Jackson can go to the bathroom. He doesn’t mind too much, feeling more awake just being out in the early morning air. When they get back, he gives Jackson a little more food and refills his water bowl before stripping down in his room and grabbing a towel so he can grab a warm shower.

He checks the time after he's out and dressed, and sees that there's still a good half-hour before he has to leave for work. He grabs something to eat and gets a cup of coffee, checking the news on his laptop as he eats breakfast.

His phone rings as he’s skimming through the headlines, and glances over at it, seeing Sam’s name pop up on the screen. He smiles to himself. Sam is about the only person he knows who’d be awake and chipper and wanting to talk at this hour. Well, besides himself. And Peggy, but she’s five hours ahead of him in England, so she doesn’t really count.

“Hey,” he greets as he answers, before taking a sip of his coffee.

“Hey man, what’re you up to?” Sam sounds out of breath, and Steve figures he probably just got finished with his morning run.

“Just having breakfast. Finished my run _ages_ ago,” he teases, and Sam’s laugh sounds through the speaker.

“You know that’s not fair, you do everything like twice as fast as me. You’re like super human or something.”

Steve laughs, closing his laptop. He probably won’t be reading anything this morning now. But that’s okay with him, talking to Sam is more fun and less stress-inducing than anything in the news.

“Besides, you probably got started earlier. So quit bragging.” He hears Sam’s door close as he gets back to his apartment. He’s still breathing heavily, though not as much as he’d been when they’d started talking.

“I got promoted.” Steve feels a little bad he hadn’t told Sam earlier, but to be fair he hasn’t really had the chance. He’s been entirely too busy with his new job.

“Really? When?” Sam asks, and Steve wonders if he should have texted him or something. Which reminds him that he hasn’t told Peggy yet either.

“Day before yesterday,” he replies, already making plans to call her later. They need to catch up anyway.

“Wow, congrats. What’s the new position?” Steve hears Sam slam something shut and then drop something else, and he guesses he’s probably trying to make himself breakfast. Or wake up his neighbors.

“Homicide detective.”

“Seriously? They’re putting you in charge of dead people? Never woulda picked that career path for you,” Sam remarks, and Steve wonders if he should be offended.

“Why?” He was hoping Sam would be more excited for him, but then he supposes that Sam doesn’t really know how the world of law enforcement works, and that it’s kind of a big deal for Steve to be promoted to detective so soon.

“Well, you’re always saving people you know?” Sam explains, and he listens carefully. Sam always seems to have helpful things to say. But then Steve guesses that’s kind of part of his job, being a counselor at the VA. “That was kind of your thing in the army, and you were good at it. Saving people, stopping the bad guys. It’s what you were doing as a patrol officer too. But now you’re gonna be getting there after the fact, and you’re not gonna be able to save people. They’re already gonna be gone. You sure you’re okay with that?”

Steve honestly hadn’t really thought about it. He’d been reluctant to take this job at first because after getting out of the military he'd really wanted to be an officer, and he’d been happy with his position. Now he wonders if part of the reason he also didn’t like the idea is because of what Sam is saying now.

“People died in the war too, Sam. I still wanted to do my job then.” This isn’t really too different from the war, in essence. He’s safer here, and more comfortable. But his job will mean that he’ll see plenty of death, and there’ll still be bad guys to stop. “Even if I couldn’t save everyone, I still wanted to stop people from killing. That hasn’t changed.” He’s watched men and women die before in battle, and he’d still wanted to stop the people responsible for the death and destruction. Not to avenge those that had fallen, but to keep other people safe. That’s what he’ll be doing now.

Sam is quiet for a moment on the other end.

“You write that down first, or was it off the top of your head?”

Steve laughs.

“Never mind, I know how articulate you can be. Hey, maybe you should start a poetry group down at the VA? You could teach that when you’re not doing your art class.”

Steve barely entertains the idea, knowing that Sam is just teasing. “Nah, I got enough on my plate now.”

“You sure? You might meet someone there. I can see it now, actually: Mr. Sensitive comes in and woos you with his deep poetry. You fall for his charm and his way with words…and then you find out…

Steve really wants him to continue. This is definitely worth skipping the news for. “Find out what?”

“…he’s a _vampire_ , Steve. Or a werewolf. Isn’t that how all the stories go now?”

“Uh, I think just the ones your little sister reads,” Steve replies.

“Just saying. If I have to learn how to hunt vampires or kick werewolf ass, you just let me know okay?”

“I don’t think that’s gonna be a problem, Sam, but okay,” he says with a smile. His eyes catch the time, and he almost sighs. “I have to get going, but I’ll catch you later.”

“Okay man. And hey, Steve?” Steve braces himself for another quip about potential vampire boyfriends as he answers.

“What?”

“I think you might be getting soft. Anyone yelled at you lately?”

Steve chuckles as Timothy Dugan's face pops into his mind. Dugan had been one of the marines he’d once helped rescue on a mission in Afghanistan, back when Steve had still been a sergeant. He can still remember that mission clearly, and it's only because of those words and that red mustache. They were on the way back to the extraction point and Steve was leading his unit when one of the men they’d rescued started to complain about hunger. Steve could sympathize completely, but it wasn’t going to be long until they were able to get to base, and then Steve could see about getting him something. Unfortunately, when they reached their destination, they discovered that they’d had to move it because it was too much of a hot spot. Steve knew where the secondary extraction point was located, but it would be almost a day’s journey, and they’d have to camp out somewhere overnight. When they found a place to bunker down, the soldier who’d been complaining earlier started up again, and Steve braced himself to be stern with him, but before he could Dugan started in on him.

 _“Hey, cheese-for-brains. It wasn’t the Hilton in there but they kept us fed. You gone more than a day without eatin’ before? ‘Cause I’m sure you have. You’re gettin’ soft. Anyone yelled at you lately? ‘Cause I’d be glad to.”_ Their whole group chuckled, and that soldier hadn't said a word after.

Steve didn’t get to spend much time with Dugan after that night, aside from the mostly quiet march to the extraction point the following day. Back at the base, Steve's path didn't cross Dugan's much, but from what little time he did spend with him, Steve learned that he liked to accuse people of not being yelled at enough. Mainly he noticed that young soldiers who got mouthy or who complained too much were his victims. He started to think it was just a phrase he liked to use to put people in line. But then Steve overheard a conversation one day and realized Dugan used it to ask a friend if they’d talked to their mother lately. After that he guessed that the phrase meant different things for different people, and when he said goodbye to Dugan before he left the base, he wondered how he might hear the infamous phrase directed toward him.

Instead, Dugan had clapped him on the shoulder, given him a grin, and told him, _“Y’know Rogers, I’ve met a lot of guys who needed to be yelled at in my time. You, you need to be the one doin’ the yellin’.”_

Steve told Sam about Dugan and his favorite catchphrase, and now they use it with each other once in a while, their own secret code. When Steve says it, it’s to ask if Sam’s talked to his family, and when Sam says it, well…

“I haven’t talked to Peggy in a while,” Steve replies, a little smile on his face. He wonders what she’d think if she found out that’s how Sam asks if Steve has kept in contact with her. “It’s been at least a week.”

“So she doesn’t know about the promotion? You know how she’s gonna be if you don’t tell her soon.” Sam has only met Peggy twice, but he knows from stories that she’s one of the few people who can truly intimidate Steve.

“I know, I know. I’ll call her,” Steve reassures him, but really, he’ll be doing it for his own good. If he waits too long, Peggy will let him know how unhappy it makes her to be kept out of the loop. He knows this from experience.

“Good. Now get going before you’re late for your brand-new job. If you get fired Peggy really _will_ yell at you.”

“Alright, I’m going,” Steve grimaces, imagining _that_ conversation. “Talk to you later, Sam.”

* * *

 

He’s prepared for the scene on the fifth floor this time around, easily assimilating the hectic atmosphere and making it a second thought. He walks out of the elevator feeling more confident than he had yesterday, and he heads right for his desk, thankfully not having to move out of anyone’s way or almost getting coffee spilled on him as he walks.

Letting his bag drop by his chair, he looks around for Morita, finding his desk empty. He could just not be in quite yet, Steve had actually managed be early. He sits down in his cushioned desk chair and takes out the notes he made yesterday, deciding that going through them would be a good use of his time, especially since they’d decided to talk to the best friend of the victim in their case today.

He sits quietly, highlighting important things, or things that seem to stand out to him, and a good ten minutes pass with him completely focused on his work. He doesn’t know how long it takes him to notice the shadow that appears on the papers he’s studying, but he doesn't take the chance to wonder before he looks up to see Barnes standing there.

His mind blanks for a moment as he looks at him, surprised to find him standing right in front of his desk, watching him. He looks at Steve curiously, and Steve doesn’t really know what to say. Barnes takes the moment of silence to start talking.

“So, you’re the new guy. Working with Morita, right?” He asks, his gaze moving to look at the papers Steve had been working on before quickly moving back to his face.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, that’s me,” Steve replies, setting down his pen and sitting up in his chair a little. Up close, he notices that Barnes’s eyes are a very unique shade of blue. They remind him a little of winter. Like when the water in the ponds of Grand Central Park freeze over. Or maybe more like when icicles freeze outside his window and then become illuminated by the white light of the streetlamps at night.

Sam might be right. He might actually have to start a poetry group.

“You like him?” Barnes asks, his whole demeanor nonchalant. It makes Steve relax, glad that at least Barnes isn’t going to give him any flack for his promotion. He smiles a little, leaning back against his chair.

“Yeah, we get along. He’s been friendly, and he’s great to work with.”

“That’s good, I’ve heard he’s a cool guy,” Barnes remarks, looking over toward Morita’s desk. “Hey, he’s not in yet?” He looks confused, like he can’t believe that Morita isn’t in. Maybe Morita is usually early.

“Uh, no, not yet.”

Barnes frowns, sighing. “Now I feel bad. I just saw him before I came in. He was getting a bunch of stuff out of his car, looked like boxes of files. Maybe for a case.” Barnes looks back at him, a guilty look on his face. “It looked like a ton of stuff, and I offered to help, but he said he was fine.”

Steve gets out of his chair. “Really? Do you know where he’s parked?”

“Yeah, over in the parking garage on the south side of the building. He was on the second level. You know what his car looks like?”

Steve nods, grabbing his key card so he can get back inside the building. He’s sure Morita has his, but he sounds a little overwhelmed with things to carry so he may as well bring it along. He gives Barnes a grateful smile as he passes by, heading toward the elevator.

“Thanks, I appreciate the tip.”

Barnes smiles back, watching him go. “Sure, no problem. Hope you catch him!”

Steve lets his smile fade as he enters the elevator, hoping that Morita isn’t struggling too badly with his things. He seems like the type to call Steve for help if he’s overwhelmed, and he almost can’t believe that he’d turn down help when it was offered to him.

The elevator doors open and Steve steps out into the parking garage, looking around for Morita’s car. He searches for a few minutes, but there’s no sign of Morita’s green Prius. Morita himself is no where to be found either, and Steve wonders if Barnes had gotten the level number wrong. He goes back to the elevator, hitting the button for the fifth floor, and he thinks about what files Morita could have possibly brought from home. There isn’t any way they could be about the case they’re working on, because Morita had only been recently assigned to this case too.

He arrives back on the fifth floor and walks back toward his desk, mind absorbed in thought. He’s brought out of them when his gaze lands on Morita’s desk, and he stops in his tracks when he spots the other man sitting there.

“You’re here? When did you get here?”

Morita looks up at him, confused. “Uh, just a minute ago. Why? Were you looking for me?”

Steve walks over to him, looking around for those boxes of files Barnes had mentioned. “Yeah, I thought you needed help. Where are your boxes?”

Morita just stares at him, like he’s unsure if Steve is okay or if he’s lost his mind.

“What boxes? What are you talking about?”

Steve straightens. If Morita doesn’t know what he’s talking about, then either Barnes was mistaken, or he’d been lied to. He sighs.

“Barnes told me that you needed help bringing some files up here.”

Morita looks at him for a moment, before his gaze moves to Steve’s desk. “Uhh…I didn’t need any help. Apparently you didn’t either.

“What?” Steve turns toward his desk, and his mouth drops. His desk is fully covered in boxes of files, and there are boxes stacked up around it, so that he can barely tell there’s a desk underneath. There’s even one box sitting on top of his chair, as if to add insult to injury.

He slowly walks toward it, wondering if this is a dream, or if he’s really been tricked. No, not tricked. _Pranked._

Is he still in high school? There’s no way he’s in the homicide department of the NYPD right now.

Taking a file out of one of the boxes on his desk, he opens it and finds a single photo of a donut on a sheet of paper. He frowns, and pulls out another file, opening it to another photo of a donut, this one chocolate-frosted. He begins to go through the files in earnest, wanting to see if there’s really just a single picture of a donut in each and every one. Morita comes up beside him, picking up one of the files and staring at the picture of a donut inside, totally perplexed.

“Are there donuts in every one of these files?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“I have no idea,” Steve replies, sighing and putting down the last file he’d looked through (a maple bar with sprinkles). “How did he even do all this while I was gone?” Steve is more amazed than upset, if he’s honest. He’d only been gone about fifteen minutes, and Morita had come in before he’d made it back. How had Barnes managed to get _all_ of these boxes on his desk in time?

“Who?” Morita asks, opening another file to find a picture of a donut with crumbled oreos on top.

“Barnes," Steve supplies, going about picking up the files and putting them back in their boxes.

“Hm…I dunno, he doesn’t really seem the type to pull pranks,” Morita states, placing the file he’d been holding back into the box.

Steve looks at him. “Really? He’s the one who set all this up. He told me to go find you because you needed help with boxes of files, and now there are boxes of files all over my desk.” He gestures to the boxes, as if Morita maybe hadn’t noticed them.

“Yeah I know, but he hasn’t pulled any pranks on anyone yet.” Morita crosses his arms, looking over at Barnes’s desk, sitting empty. Steve had also noticed his mysterious absence. “I think I know who might be responsible though…” He smiles to himself, looking down at the boxes.

“Who?”

Morita looks up at him, shaking his head. “I’ll tell you later. In the meantime, we have a BFF to interview, don’t we?” He moves to his desk to grab his things, and Steve frowns at his desk as he gets his own bag. Steve would rather not let the files sit on his desk all day. Who knows who might walk by and get curious? He doubts Coulson would appreciate the thought that Steve felt the need to bring several boxes with pictures of donuts in them into work. Anyone else might just think he’s crazy. He sighs, nudging a box with his foot.

“Don’t suppose we have time to get rid of these?”

Morita gives him a sorry look, joining him by his desk again. “Sorry Captain, ‘fraid not. We have to be there for the interview by 10:30.” Steve smiles a little at him, surprised at the fact Morita mentioned his rank. He’d been surprised last night when Steve had told him which rank he’d held while in the Army, and Steve had stopped him before he could think about treating him differently. Morita is his mentor for now, and even though Steve has plenty of experience in the battlefield and with leadership, this is a whole new ballgame. Steve is fine working under someone else until he gets his bearings. Morita had made it clear that they’re equals on this case though, and Steve couldn’t be more grateful that he’d gotten such a supportive partner on his first case.

He wonders if others in the department who aren’t so supportive would treat him differently if they knew his rank.

Steve already decided that he won’t tell them. He’ll solve his case and show them what he can do. Prove himself. And then maybe he’ll let them know. It would be nice to see their faces.

In the meantime, he walks away from the pictures of donuts on his desk and sets his mind on the case. He has to remember what’s important right now.

Right now, someone’s life is on the line.

* * *

 

 “Alright, so we know that Connie Morrison said she saw a black jeep, and that the guy who took our missing person went by Ed,” Steve says, going over the files once again as they drive to Connie’s parent’s house in Queens. She had agreed to meet them there, being that it’s the last place she’d seen her friend. “But she couldn’t see the make or model of the jeep because it was dark.”

“No lampposts,” replies Morita, inclining his head toward Steve as he keeps his eyes on the road. “There’s not much we can do about that though. We’ll just have to see what else she remembers. But according to the other interviews she’s done, it’s not much.” Morita frowns as they come to a stop at a light, letting his head fall back against the headrest. He glances over at Steve. “There’s a reason this is a cold case…”

“…and it goes cold with Ms. Morrison.” Steve says, looking ahead at the light. “This is our only lead. We have to make it count.”

Morita sighs, letting off the brake as the light turns green. They drive in silence for a while, Steve looking over at Morita every few minutes. There’s something he’s still wondering about the other man that he hasn’t asked yet.

“So...how’d you get assigned to this case anyway? You’ve been in this division for almost six years now, right?” Morita had told him a little about his detective work at the bar, but they hadn’t gotten into how he’d become Steve’s new partner/mentor. Steve had thought he’d be placed on newer cases, ones that would utilize his experience. Morita seems pretty sharp and capable, from what Steve can see. If he’d met him in the army, he would have loved to have him in his unit.

“Got injured.” Morita replies, putting on his signal and switching lanes. “During my last case my partner and I were looking into an accident. Two drivers, both dead: one on impact, and one in the hospital two days later. We found signs of foul play. The day after the accident, we were driving to interview the family of the second victim, and somebody hit us.”

Steve’s eyes widen a bit before narrowing. “Did they mean to?”

Morita nods. “Yup. T-boned us at an intersection, then drove off. No plates. Not that I noticed, I was too busy bleeding out all over my shirt. My partner saw the car, a black SUV. They scraped the emblems off the car so we couldn’t tell the make or model, but my partner could tell it was a Chevy since his cousin used to own one. That’s all we could find out though, and it didn’t help us in the end.”

“You never caught the guy?” Steve is frowning at this point. Who would try to hurt Morita? Or maybe it was his partner they were after…

“No. It’s a shame too, I would’ve loved to put him away. Or kick his ass, one of the two.” Morita grins over at him, and Steve works up a little smile. “Put me in the hospital for almost two weeks, then on house rest for a few months after that. I had to give up my case.”

“To who?”

“Barnes.”

Steve’s brows draw together in confusion. “Barnes?”

Morita nods. “Yeah, he came on the scene just after I got kicked off the case. He got put on immediately.”

Steve looks back at the road, quiet with thought. Barnes replaced Morita?

“Lucky guy,” he remarks a moment later. Coulson must have had a lot of faith in Barnes to replace a senior detective with him right off the bat. He wouldn’t have been in homicide for long at all before taking Morita’s place.

“Yup. But it’s alright, I got to spend more time with my kids while I recovered.” Morita has a little smile on his face, and it makes Steve smile, too.

“Yeah? I’m sure they loved that.”

“Yeah, they were excited. I haven’t gotten to spend as much time with them since I came back from taking a paternity leave when Sara was born.” Morita sighs, then shakes his head. “You know she’s almost two now? Time flies, man…”

Steve just smiles fondly, knowing the feeling even though he doesn’t have any kids of his own. Time certainly does fly…it feels like just last year he was graduating and his mom was there, crying her eyes out and almost constantly hugging him. A few months later he’d enlisted in the army and she’d done the same thing all over again.

He always felt bad about making her cry.

It was something she’d seen coming though. He’d been talking about joining since he’d found out his father had died while serving. At first his mam had just laughed it off, because Steve was a kid and a small one at that. She’d gotten progressively more upset every time she’d ask what his plans were for his future and what he planned on doing after high school, and his answer was always the same.

For all the times she tried to talk him out of it though, Steve almost never regretted enlisting.

Almost.

“Hey it’s 158th, right?” Morita asks, interrupting him from his trail of thoughts.

“Yeah.” Steve replies, and Morita takes a right a minute later, turning onto the street. He drives slowly, and Steve keeps his eye out for the right address. He spots it a moment later, on a large colonial-style home with a neatly kept lawn. Morita whistles.

“Wow, I’d love to have a place like that.”

Steve just stares at it with a mild look of contempt. He can’t help but think his apartment in Brooklyn is better.

* * *

 

His place is definitely better.

This house is too big, in Steve’s opinion. He’s never lived in a place like this, and he doesn’t know that he’d want to. It’s too spacious, and too perfect. Steve likes his radiator that makes weird noises and the fact that he sometimes has to turn his hot water all the way up when he takes a shower in order to ensure that it’s not just lukewarm.

This place has hardwood floors that he can almost see his own face in and a vase that he’s pretty sure could cover his rent for a year if he could figure out a way to get it onto the black market.

Ms. Morrison is nice enough, for someone who’s been interviewed three different times about her missing best friend. She welcomes them in with a polite smile, though Steve can tell it’s stretched across her lips, and he knows they’re probably not as welcome as she’s making it seem. She’s most likely trying to move on from this, and now he and Morita are making that impossible for her. At least if they can get some information from her, they might get what they need and be able to close this case. That could at least provide her with some closure, Steve thinks.

He also notices how surprised she seems to be to see him, at first. Not Morita, just him. As if she wasn’t expecting him for some reason, though Steve can’t begin to figure out why. It’s not like he’s ever met her before.

She leads them into a sitting room to the left of the entry way, and he and Morita sit down on couches that he’s pretty sure are authentic Victorian-era furnishings.It makes him want to cover the couch in plastic before he sits on it, something that his granny used to do to all of her furniture when he was little. He supposes this is better. Less squeaking when he sits.

Connie sits down in a chair across from them and smiles nervously, her hands folded in her lap and her legs crossed at the ankles.

“Can I get you anything? Maybe coffee?” She asks, and Steve thinks she’s making the offer to both of them even though she keeps looking at him.

He smiles back politely, shaking his head. “No, thank you Ms. Morrison. We’ll just continue with the interview and then be out of your way.” He hopes Morita didn’t want anything, but as he glances over he sees that the other man doesn’t seem to mind Steve rejecting Connie’s offer at all. In fact, he’s busy getting what looks to be a voice recorder out of his bag.

Connie’s smile doesn’t waver, and she shyly tucks a piece of hair behind her ear as she nods. “Please, call me Connie.”

“Do you mind if I record this?” Morita asks, and Connie looks back at him, shaking her head to say she doesn’t mind. Her smile falls though, and Steve wonders if the fact that this interview will be recorded is making her more nervous. “We’ll need to review some of the same information you gave to the last detectives who interviewed you, if you don’t mind.” Morita says, and he presses the record button on the device before placing it on the coffee table between them. Steve gets out his little notebook he’d used to write down the information they’d gathered while studying the case yesterday.

“So, Ms. Morrison,” Morita starts, “Please describe the night that Bonnie Ambley disappeared.”

Connie begins to speak, and Steve listens carefully, comparing what she says to his notes. Her account matches what she’d told detectives during the last two interviews, and Steve wants to frown, because part of him wanted her to slip up somewhere or make a mistake and give something away. Now there’s more evidence against his idea that she could be hiding something, and he feels a bit of disappointment well up at the fact that his instincts were wrong.

As Connie describes seeing the Jeep outside her window, Steve turns, wanting to compare the distance between the living room window and the street to see if her story is viable. There aren’t any streetlamps, and the distance isn’t much but it might be enough for Connie to not be able to see anything distinct. The thought that this isn’t the view Connie had bothers him though, and he wonders if there’s any way she would allow them to look down from her bedroom window.

Morita finishes the interview with Steve barely interjecting, and although Connie was visibly relaxing more and more as the interview carried on, Steve can tell she’s relieved that it’s over. It’s too bad that he can’t say the same.

Knowing that they have no new information is something that grates on him, and he takes a breath and puts on his best smile before asking her if they might be able to look down at the street from her window.

She’s clearly taken off-guard by the question, but she doesn’t immediately reject the idea or shut Steve down like he was thinking she might. Instead, her nervous smile makes another appearance, and she nods a little.

“Sure, I don’t see why not.”

Steve thanks her. He senses Morita looking over at him but he doesn’t return the gaze. Connie stands up and he follows suit, walking after her as she leads him and Morita down a hallway and up the stairs to her old bedroom. It looks like the bedroom of a high school girl’s, and Steve guesses that her parents hadn’t done anything to it when she moved out.

“My parents haven’t really done anything with this room yet, so it looks the same as it did when I was in high school.” Connie confirms his suspicions, leading them over to the window. As he looks out, he notices that not much is different from the view he had downstairs, and disappointment wells up again. He turns away, looking around the room as Morita continues to look out the window. Connie moves to sit on the end of her bed, and she watches Steve as he walks slowly around the room.

“How long has it been since you were in high school, detective?” She asks, and the question surprises Steve. He wonders for a second if it’s directed toward Morita, but he looks back at her over his shoulder and she’s still looking at him. He gives her a little smile and turns to look at the little trophies and pictures sitting on her vanity.

“Nine years,” he replies, reading the plaque of a trophy that declares Connie Morrison won first place in a regional gymnastics tournament in 2012. “Class of ’06.”

Connie makes a humming sound behind him. “That’s a while. Your class reunion is coming up next year, right? Where’d you go to school?”

Steve is starting to wonder if he’s the one being investigated, but he doesn’t find himself annoyed so much as amused. Maybe she’s tired of being asked questions and wants to do the asking for once.

“Over in Brooklyn,” he replies, because she’s from a nice part of Queens and probably won’t have any idea where his old high school is if he tried to tell her. He doubts she gets over to that part of town much.

“Ohh, a Brooklyn boy huh? I dated a guy from Brooklyn once. I don’t remember what part though…maybe he was from…hm, let me think…”

“This is a nice picture,” Steve interrupts, trying to find some way to keep this conversation on the investigation. He’s glad that she’s relaxed enough to talk about the good old days, but he’s still trying to do his job. Plus he doesn’t want Morita to think he can’t handle a college student.

He holds up the picture he’s talking about so that Connie can see it. It’s a photo of her and another girl, who Steve knows to be Bonnie, at a fair with two other girls their age. They all have their arms around each other and Bonnie is holding a stick of cotton candy.

Connie smiles fondly. “Yeah, that was us back in the summer before Junior year.” Steve looks back at the picture. Bonnie disappeared the following May. “We were all at Coney Island,” Connie continues, “Me and Bonnie and Faye and Edwina.”

Steve stares at the picture as a thought begins to form.

“Looks like you had a lot of fun,” he says, placing the picture back down on the nightstand. “I never had a group of friends like that growing up. You all look pretty close.” Steve turns to look at Connie, his arms crossed over his chest.

“Oh yeah, we’d all been friends since we met Freshman year,” she replies, eyes still on the picture. “Me and Bonnie met in elementary school, so we were already best friends. Then I met Faye and Bonnie met Edwina and we all started hanging out together. We were friends all through high school. We still are, actually. We still talk all the time, which is great. Faye actually just got married two weeks ago,” Connie finishes, an excited smile on her face.

“That’s great,” Steve replies, giving her a little smile of his own. “You went then, I’m guessing, since you’re still friends?”

“Yeah, actually, I was one of her bridesmaids.” He wonders if Connie even remembers he’s a detective at this point, or if she just thinks this is a friendly chat.

“Wow. What about your other friend? Uh…” Steve pretends to forget the name, looking down at the carpet in mock-thought.

“Edwina,” Connie says, and Steve looks back up at her. “No, um…she couldn’t make it.”

Steve notices the way she suddenly tenses, and his eyes flick to Morita. They share a look before Morita returns to watching her carefully.

“Really? Why not? She would’ve been a bridesmaid too, right?”

Connie looks hesitant. “Uh no…she and Faye had a falling out so, she didn’t want her as a bridesmaid.”

Steve looks back at the picture, and this time he notices that Bonnie is wearing a necklace with a heart pendant.

So is Edwina.

“But she was still invited to the wedding?” He asks, looking back at Connie.

She looks confused at the question, and it shows in her tone of voice when she answers. “What? No, she and Faye aren’t friends anymore.”

Steve looks back at her with an expression that’s just as confused. “You said before that she couldn’t make it though?”

“I…” Connie looks away from him, and Steve knows for sure that she’s lying to him. “I didn’t want to say they had a fight, so I said she couldn’t make it.”

“Oh. Well, it’s nice that you keep things private for your friends.”

Connie’s eyes widen and when she looks at him Steve knows that she’s realized that he’s onto something.

“Tell me about Ms. Ambley’s parents.” He decides to switch the subject, feeling like she might start getting defensive if he doesn’t. He relaxes too, leaning back against the wall next to Connie’s vanity.

“What?” She’s taken off-guard again, and Steve just gives her a patient smile.

“Bonnie’s parents. I haven’t talked to them personally, so I wanted to know if you could tell me more about them.

“Oh…okay,” she replies, and she seems to relax a little again. “Well…they’re strict. As long as I’ve known Bonnie, they’ve kind of…sheltered her I guess. I mean, my parents do too, but Bonnie’s…” She trails off for a moment, staring at the floor. When she continues, she glances at him quickly, then looks down at her shoes. “They loved her a lot though…I think they were trying to keep her safe, but they kind of went overboard sometimes…”

“How?” Steve prompts, keeping his expression gentle.

“Well…when Bonnie had her first date, they made her call them every twenty minutes so they could check in on her. And once she and I were out ten minutes past her curfew and they grounded her for a week.”

Steve winces sympathetically. “That seems a little harsh,” he says, not knowing if he’s supposed to be keeping a neutral opinion. He can’t help it though, it does seem like being grounded for a week for being out an extra ten minutes is overboard.

Connie just laughs a little, but it’s not a pleasant one. “You don’t know the half of it. They monitored what she watched on TV until she turned sixteen. It didn’t help that they’re _super_ conservative, so she could barely watch anything.”

Steve feels like he’s starting to see the picture. “It sounds like things were tough for Bonnie.”

“Yeah…she didn’t really get along with them. They didn’t really understand her,” she says quietly, and Steve catches his opportunity.

“What do you mean?”

Connie tenses again, and she looks down at the floor. She’s quiet suddenly, and Steve hides his frustration at the setback as he changes the subject again.

“Well…I guess even if they didn’t understand each other, they never got the opportunity to try.”

Connie looks back up at him, her expression a little sad. Steve continues.

“Losing your only daughter…it’s probably hard for them. Even if they’re strict and conservative and she had different views, I bet they’d do anything to get her back.”

Connie has to look away then. Her eyes start welling up with tears and she grips the edge of her bed. Steve wonders if he shouldn’t push, but he’s so sure about this now, and he doesn’t want to back down. Especially if it means finally getting peace for Bonnie’s family.

Steve pushes off from the wall and moves over to the vanity, grabbing the picture again. He slowly walks over to Connie, and when she looks up at him, he turns it over so she can look at it.

“I can see how happy she is here. Don’t you think her family would want to see her this happy?”

Connie stares at the picture for a while, a tear escaping down her cheek as she looks at her friend. When she looks back up at him, Steve can see more tears welling up, and he holds his breath, waiting.

She looks over at Morita, and then down at the floor. She nods.

* * *

 

 “Wow,” Morita says loudly, a grin on his face. “I mean…wow.”

Steve laughs. “Wow yourself.”

Morita laughs back at him, clapping a hand on his shoulder as they walk down the hall back at the station, away from the interrogation room.

“No, that was definitely all you. You were like…like a dog with a scent,” he states, and Steve wonders if he should be offended. Morita sees his face and laughs again. “It’s a compliment buddy. You had that in the bag the moment you were handed the case.”

Steve looks ahead, feeling a little shy at the praise. “No I didn’t, I had a hunch.” He shrugs, and Morita smiles shaking his head.

“Yeah, well your _hunch_ just found a girl who’s been missing for three years.”

Steve lets himself smile at that, even if he feels like he hadn’t done much. At least what he had accomplished will allow Bonnie’s parents to get the relief of knowing their daughter is okay.

Connie had confessed everything to them right there in her room. Tears rolling down her face, she told them about how Bonnie and Edwina (who sometimes went by “Ed” among their friends), had fallen in love. Bonnie knew her parents would never accept it, though. She knew they were against homosexuality, and she worried they wouldn’t let her be happy. Edwina was worried about her too, since her own guardian was her grandmother, who took her in after her parents kicked her out when they found out about her sexual orientation. Bonnie and Edwina started dating secretly, and at the start of Junior year Bonnie knew she wanted to be with her without hiding it from her family.

It was then that Connie and Faye helped her devise a plan so she could run away with Edwina. Eventually Bonnie was supposed to come back with her and they were supposed to confront Bonnie’s parents, but when they got to Canada Bonnie decided that she didn’t want to go back. Edwina had lied to her grandmother, telling her that she’d gotten in to a private girl’s school in a different part of the state and had even elaborately written a letter and documents backing up her claim, so her grandmother wasn’t alarmed when she left, especially when Edwina sent her letters and called her often. Bonnie and Edwina had started dating not long after they met, too, so she hadn’t mentioned Edwina to her parents and they both acted like they didn’t even know each other around people who might expose them. Bonnie’s parents had no idea Edwina existed, and neither did Connie’s or even Faye’s. Together Bonnie and Edwina were able to stay in Canada, and Connie and Faye were left with keeping their secret. Faye had kept it well enough, she grew busy with school and her boyfriend and then her wedding. Connie, on the other hand…

The guilt had been tearing her up inside since the night Bonnie and Edwina left.

She didn’t look so relieved after telling them everything though, especially when Steve said she would have to come downtown with them. Steve couldn’t really promise that she wouldn’t be in trouble, though he didn’t mention that to her. She withheld evidence and lied to police. It would ultimately be up to Bonnie’s parents, and how they decided to deal with the fact Connie had kept information about their daughter from them for so long.

Steve just hopes that he’s done the right thing, even if he knows that officially, lawfully, he has. If Bonnie’s parents can’t appreciate having her back enough to overlook her sexuality though…

“Hey, you okay?” Morita asks, interrupting his thoughts. He nods, though he knows his expression probably isn’t any less guilty.

“Yeah…I just…” He doesn’t know what he wants to say, exactly. _‘I kind of feel bad for finding this missing girl?’_ ‘ _I’m actually not sure I’ve done the right thing here?’_

“Y’know…” Morita starts, and Steve looks over at him. “The nice thing about being gone for three years is that now she’s old enough to make her own decisions, despite her parents.” Steve can’t help the smile those words put on his face. He’s right, and Steve can rest a little easier knowing that even if Bonnie’s parents don’t accept her relationship or her orientation, at least they can’t stop her from being happy with who she loves.

As they walk back to their desks, Steve notices that his is suddenly missing boxes of printed donuts.

“Whoa, what happened to your donuts?” Morita says, looking around his desk like he expects there to be a box hiding somewhere.

“I don’t know…” Steve is just confused now, because what’s the point of pulling a prank if you don’t leave the evidence around for other people to see and laugh at? He wonders who could have taken the boxes away, because he doesn’t think anyone here really likes him enough to want to save him the embarrassment. Before he can wonder about it too much, he hears Coulson calling his name, and he looks up to see him gesturing toward him from his office.

“Crap, do you think he…?” Morita doesn’t finish his sentence, and Steve is grateful for it. He doesn’t want to even begin to wonder what Coulson would think if he found the prank on Steve’s desk. Although the fact that he’s now being called into his office doesn’t go over his head. He might be about to find out exactly what he thinks.

Steve walks into Coulson’s office like he hasn’t done anything wrong. Which, he hasn’t, but the other man might not know that. He walks to his desk, where Coulson is now sitting, and he takes the fact that he hadn’t asked him to close the door behind him as a good sign.

“Steve, good to see you,” Coulson says, and Steve relaxes a little internally. “I heard about the case today. Good work. Fantastic work, actually.”

“Thank you.” Steve is thankful that the conversation is going to be about the case and not about the prank, though Coulson could be working up to that.

“Fury was right to promote you. You’re already proving yourself, although I can’t say I’m completely surprised judging by your previous work as an officer, as well as your accomplishments in the military. Still, I wanted to see what you would do with this case, and I think you blew my expectations out of the water.”

Steve isn’t sure what to say at this point, having already thanked him, so he stays silent. Coulson smiles at him before continuing.

“This may come as a bit of a surprise, but I’d like to immediately put you on a case that’s provided some difficulties for our other detectives. One of the detectives who had been working on this case was injured a few hours ago while investigating the newest crime scene.” Coulson grabs a file sitting to the side of his desk.

“The newest?” Steve looks at him, eyes narrowed in confusion. How many crime scenes are there for this case?

Coulson nods. “There have been multiple.” He opens the file and pushes it toward Steve. His eyes are immediately assaulted with images of things that for a moment put him back in Afghanistan.

People on the ground, laying in pools of their own blood. A man sitting in his car with his head smashed against the steering wheel. Another man with what looks to be eight bullet holes in his body, which is bloated from having been thrown into some source of water. Possibly a river, or a pond, Steve guesses off the top of his head. He gingerly picks up the file and flips through it, hoping there aren’t any more pictures.

“Four murders,” Coulson says. “All connected. And now two police injuries. This is a big case, Steve.” He doesn’t continue, and Steve knows what he’s asking him without actually asking.

He flips the folder closed, and nods. “I’m willing to accept the responsibility. Thank you for the opportunity,” he says, and Coulson stands up to shake his hand.

“It’s my pleasure. I have faith in your abilities. I’m looking forward to really seeing what you can do with them.” Steve almost feels flattered at this point, but he hides it as best he can.

“You said there were two police injuries?” If he’s going into something that might put him out of commission, he’d like to know what he’s up against.

“Yes. I don’t know if he told you, but Morita was injured earlier this year. We’ve now determined it was in connection to this case.”

“What helped you determine that?” Morita had told him that they couldn’t figure out who was driving the car that hit him and his partner. Had they come across a new lead?

“The fact that his partner was still on the same case, and this time he was the one to get attacked.” Coulson sits down heavily in his chair, looking weighed down. Steve wonders if he’s still dealing with the news himself.

“Attacked?” Steve thought that maybe someone had tried running into them again, but someone actually attacked Morita’s partner?

Coulson sighs and Steve can tell from his expression that he’s having a hard time. “He was shot. The assailant was shot and killed at the scene, and we’re now trying to identify his body.”

Steve barely hears anything after “He was shot,” and his thoughts immediately turn to the worst.

“He’s going to be out for a while, and we’re going to need you to replace him,” Coulson says, and Steve exhales a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. Morita probably doesn’t know about this yet, considering Steve had been with him all day. Now if Steve has to be the one to deliver the news, he’ll be able to tell him that it was an injury, and that his old partner should get through it.

He takes in another breath, and decides to find out who got put in the hospital. “Who am I replacing?”

Coulson doesn’t look like he hears him at first. He’s looking at the file in Steve’s hand, and he wonders if Coulson is feeling guilt for putting another person on the case who could get injured, or worse. But then he straightens up a little and looks at him.

“Barton.”


	4. “Steve Rogers.”

“How do you get this thing…to sit up more? How do you…”

“Barton.”

“This…hospital beds man. It’s like…they’re so convoluted!”

“Clint.”

“I mean, I’m injured! Do they want me to be even more uncomfortable? All I wanna do is sit up.”

Bucky sighs, bringing a hand up and rubbing his temples. Clint’s been out of surgery for almost five hours now. He’d first woken up about two hours after his surgery, although he’d been groggy and had only looked around in confusion before passing out again. After that he’d slept soundly for another three hours, and he’d only just come to about fifteen minutes ago. That’s when he’d decided that he needed to readjust his hospital bed. The nurses had let Bucky into the room not long after Clint came out of surgery, and he’d stuck around so he could be there when Clint fully regained conciousness. He’s now regretting that decision.

“Oh! Got it!” Bucky stares as the machine slowly moves Clint into a more elevated sitting position. When he’s done, Clint looks over at him, smiling, but it soon drops when he takes notice of the expression on Bucky’s face.

“What?”

Bucky gives another short sigh. “I asked if you wanted anything.”

Clint looks confused. “No…the nurses can just bring me whatever I want.” He smiles again, letting out a pleased sigh and leaning back against the bed. “Breakfast, lunch, and dinner in bed, and jello whenever I want it. I haven’t been this pampered since my mom took care of me when I got sick as a kid.”

Bucky thinks that Clint might be the only person who actually enjoys hospitals.

“I was talking about things from home. Or stuff to do while you’re in here. You know you’re gonna be stuck in here for at least a week right?”

Clint sighs, pouting a bit. “Which is dumb. It’s just a flesh wound.”

Bucky glares at him sternly. “Clint, you got shot. Twice. Once in your lung. You could have _died_.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t!” Clint argues, and Bucky shakes his head, wondering how in the hell he’s supposed to deal with this, especially since he’s probably going to be visiting him a lot. “Hey…you okay?”

Bucky looks up at him, and wonders what kind of expression he must be wearing for Clint to ask that. He really hasn’t been okay at all, not since Clint was suddenly gunned down in the middle of a crime scene and Bucky had needed to quickly take out the shooter before making sure his partner wasn’t going to die. The whole thing took him back to a place he tries not to return to almost every night when he sleeps. Vehicles exploding. Guns shooting. Bloody sand. Heated metal.

His friend-

“-ucky? Hey Bucky? Earth to Barnes!” Bucky blinks and sees Clint’s hand waving in front of him.

“What?”

“Are you getting loopy on me? I’m the one pumped full of morphine right now you know.” He smiles a little, but then his expression becomes more concerned again. “Seriously. You alright?”

Bucky nods, definitely not wanting to talk about past traumatic experiences with Clint while the other man is in the hospital from gunshot wounds.

“Yeah. So do you need anything?” He hopes the change in subject will work, and he knows he’s only partially succeeded when Clint gives him a look that says he isn’t entirely convinced even though he answers his question anyway.

“Sure, uh…magazines maybe? And I’ll need my cell charger. And could you take care of Lucky for me? I know it’s a lot to ask…” Clint looks like he feels bad for even having to, but Bucky shakes his head.

“It’s no problem, do you just want me to give him food and water, and walk him?” Clint looks relieved at his response, and Bucky can tell that he’s been worrying about his dog for a while now. Probably since he woke up, if Bucky knows anything about him.

“Yeah, food and water twice a day, he’ll need to go out to do his business too, and if you could just walk him in the mornings…” Clint pauses, and looks at him with a smile. “Thanks man. I owe you.”

Bucky knows he isn’t just talking about his dog. “Like I said, it’s no problem. And no you don’t.”

* * *

 

He returns to his apartment at almost 10 o’clock that night after stopping by Clint’s place to feed Lucky and let him outside. As he shuffles down the hall toward his door, he wants nothing more than to grab some Jack Daniels and fall asleep on the couch with his cat.

When he enters his apartment, he spots a pair of heeled boots sitting off to the side, and he sighs a little. He should have known she’d be here.

He shuts the door behind him and doesn’t let the fact that he has company deter him from his plans. After pouring himself a generous amount of whiskey, he takes his glass and goes to his living room, spotting Natasha on the couch immediately. She’s petting Dorothy, who’s curled up next to her thigh and purring contently.

When she looks up at him, she spots the glass in his hand and she gives him a little smirk.

“Do I get any?”

A soft puff of air escapes his nose in response as Bucky walks over to the couch. “You know where it is,” he replies, collapsing on the seat at the other end. His head goes back to rest against the back of the couch, and he lets his eyes close. They ache a little as he rests them.

“How is he?”

Bucky had texted her at the hospital while Clint was in surgery. He’d mostly kept her updated while he was there, but he hasn’t texted her since the last time Clint woke up.

“He’s gonna be fine,” he replies, not bothering to look at her. He feels exhaustion from the stress of today set in, and he wonders if he’ll even really need the whiskey, or if he’s tired enough to pass out and sleep a dreamless sleep.

“That’s good. Did you get to talk to him?” Dorothy meows softly, and Bucky cracks an eye to look over at her. She’s enjoying some neck scratches and drooling a little. He smiles and settles back again.

“Yeah, I’m gonna bring him some stuff in the morning since there’s not much for him to do there. He asked me to watch his dog, too, so I’ll probably just stay over at his place.” He lets out a deep sigh as he opens his eyes and lifts his head. “Do you mind taking care of Dorothy for a few days?”

Natasha smiles at his cat, now scratching her behind the ears. “Nah, she’s easy.” She’s quiet for a moment, then, and Bucky takes the opportunity to sip at his drink. When she does speak again, her voice is low and quiet. “How are you doing?”

He doesn’t answer her for a moment, staring down into his drink and observing its amber color. He licks his lips, thinking about whether or not she’d know he’s lying if he just replied with “I’m fine,” before deciding that it was a stupid thought and that he should just tell the truth because of course she would.

“It was shitty,” he replies, thinking back to when Clint had been shot. He takes another sip of whiskey as Natasha says nothing. “I didn’t think I’d have to deal with that again after coming home.”

She nods in his peripheral, switching her right hand for her left as she pets Dorothy so that she can stretch an arm along the back of the couch toward him. “He’s alive Bucky. And you saved him.”

“This time,” he replies, and Natasha sighs softly. This time he’d been able to. This time he’d gotten over his initial shock and immediately pulled out his concealed gun, shot the guy through the head, and then got to work on taking care of Clint. He was determined, through it all. He wouldn’t let him die. Not this time.

“Bucky.” He’s brought out of his thoughts, and he finally allows himself to look over at Natasha. “He’s going to be okay. It’s going to be okay.”

“You don’t know that.” His frustration shows in his tone, and he hates getting like this but _damnit_ he can’t help it. “Sure, this time he’s okay, but what about next time? If it happened this time why the hell couldn’t it happen again? What if it happens and next time I can’t save him? What if I can’t? What if-“

His words cut off as Natasha wraps her arms around him, and he tries his hardest not to cry. Because today had been harder than he could even try to explain to her. One moment he’d been standing there, looking at a body, and the next he was being shoved down and Clint was taking a bullet to the shoulder, and then to the chest. It all felt like everything was slowed down at that point, and Bucky felt the pull of his mind, trying to induce a memory and take him back to another time. A time when he couldn’t save him. And after he’d taken out the shooter and gotten to Clint he almost thought he wasn’t going to be able to. The blood was everywhere, and his breathing was quick and shallow. It didn’t take him long to figure out Clint had been shot in his right lung. He could only do his best to try and clear his airway and calm him down and thank God someone called an ambulance because that wasn’t where his mind was at all.

“You’re okay, _medvezhonok_. He’s okay.” She pets his hair, and Bucky lets himself lean against her, needing the support right now.

“He saved me, Natasha,” he says quietly, staring ahead at nothing. She’s quiet for a moment, most likely processing what he just said.

“What do you mean?”

“He pushed me down so I wouldn’t get hit.” She’s quiet again after he speaks, and he wonders what she’s thinking.

“Well it’s a good thing you saved him back then.” He looks over at her, confused, and she’s watching him with a teasing smile. “Otherwise you would have owed him one.”

He huffs a laugh, and looks back down at his drink, shaking his head. “Well thank God for that.”

She leans over and presses a kiss to his head, before slipping off the couch and looking down at him, a mix between fondness and concern in her eyes. “Do you need me to stay over?"

He offers a tight smile and shakes his head. “No, thanks. I got Dorothy.”

She laughs a little, acting offended as she replies, “Oh, well as long as _she’s_ here.” Then she runs a hand through his hair before turning and walking toward the door. “Don’t drink too much Barnes. I’m not coming over to take care of you in the morning if you get a hangover.”

Bucky smirks up at her. “Really? ‘Cause you still owe me from last time.”

She turns from the foyer to look back at him. “Fine, but no puking.” Then she’s picking up her boots and opening the door to leave, though she stops before stepping outside, instead turning back to look at him again. Bucky really wishes she’d just leave before he asks her to stay with him. “I’m just next door, okay?” Bucky hates how she has to reassure him, when he’s a twenty-eight-year-old ex-marine with several years of police experience.

He just nods in response, and she leaves him to be alone with his alcohol and his cat. Dorothy makes a reappearance a moment later, sauntering in from the kitchen, and he smiles as she hops up onto the couch next to him. He strokes her gently as she settles onto his lap and he leans back into the couch, taking a sip from his glass and carrying out his original plans for the evening.

* * *

 

The next morning Bucky enters the department after running his morning errands. Lucky was fed and walked and he’d dropped off his things that he’d packed for his stay at Clint’s. At his next stop, Clint had been happy to see him, and to be handed a stack of magazines, his phone charger, and his laptop. He was less happy when he brought up the prank they’d pulled on Rogers the previous day.

“You what?”

“I got rid of everything after he left with Morita.” Clint had just stared at him for a moment, bewildered.

“Wha- when did you do that?” He’d looked seriously confused, probably wondering when Barnes could have pulled that off without him noticing.

“It was when I told you to go warm up the car because I needed to heat up my coffee.”

“I _thought_ it was weird when you didn’t have any coffee…” Bucky had just smiled. Clint can be the best detective sometimes, but he’s also trusting, so when Bucky had climbed into the car and he’d asked him where his coffee was, Bucky had just told him he’d chugged it on his way down and that had been that. “But _why?_ ” Clint continued, not willing to let the subject go. “Why would you do that? What’s the point of a prank if he can’t enjoy it?”

Bucky looked back at him with a skeptical expression on his face. “Enjoy it? Clint, the person being pranked doesn’t enjoy it.”

“How do you know!? Maybe he thought it was funny!”

“He didn’t.” Bucky remembered the complete confusion on Rogers’s face, having hid behind some filing cabinets near the back of the office in order to watch. He remembered feeling anxious when Rogers thought that he was the only one behind the prank, and he’d wanted to find some way to let him know it wasn’t even his idea. He shouldn’t care really, but Clint had told him that their coworkers hadn’t really warmed up to the guy yet, and Bucky hadn’t really wanted to come off as an ass.

“Well what’d he think then?” Clint had missed the entire thing. He’d had to pee since before Rogers had gotten to the department, and he ended up not having time to go, between bringing the boxes up from his car and then hiding them from view before Rogers got there and saw them. So after they’d gotten all of the boxes on Rogers’s desk and were waiting for their victim to return from the parking garage, he’d been bouncing up and down until Bucky finally made him run to the bathroom. He wasn’t happy to have missed seeing Rogers’s reaction when he returned.

“He was just confused about why there were boxes of donut photos on his desk.”

Clint had sighed, defeated, and Bucky smiled to himself. “Maybe he just doesn’t have a sense of humor.”

“Or maybe you shouldn’t have used an inside joke he wouldn’t understand to prank him with.”

“Well I thought it’d be funny for us! And it would’ve been if I hadn’t had to go to the bathroom!” Clint had looked so disappointed at that point Bucky almost felt bad for laughing at him. Almost. “Shut up, Barnes,” Clint griped, and Bucky had just ignored the cranky command.

“Hey, sorry okay? I just didn’t want him to get into trouble with Coulson.” _Or for people to get curious and then think that Rogers is a weirdo_ , he’d thought to himself.

Clint had sort of understood after that, he’d been caught by Coulson enough times to warrant some form of sympathy, even though he still hadn’t been happy about it. Bucky figured that he was actually more upset about not being there to watch the outcome of their prank, but he figures he’ll get over that too.

Now, as he walks toward his desk, he notices Rogers sitting at his own desk and working on something. There aren’t too many people in today, it being Saturday, and people wanting to work on their cases at home instead of coming in. So he’s a little surprised to see him, and he wonders if he should take this opportunity to apologize about the prank, but then he figures that his hands are clean. After all, he’d cleaned everything up so that no one else would see it. And it was Clint’s dumb idea anyway.

So he keeps walking to his desk, setting his things down and pulling out the stuff on the case. He pauses as he looks at the files on his desk.

He can’t possibly handle this case alone. He’s confident in himself, sure, but this case is turning out to be a big one and he hasn’t been a detective for long. Plus it will no doubt take Clint a while to heal, probably more than a month with his collapsed lung, and no amount of his stubborn determination to get better will change that. Bucky wonders if he should ask Coulson about a temporary partner as he sits down at his desk and opens the notes he’d taken yesterday at the crime scene. He’s supposed to look into the evidence that the crime scene investigators took yesterday, and he wonders if he can look into the progress on identifying the guy who shot Clint while he’s at it. They most likely have a match by now.

He sees Rogers get up from his desk out of the corner of his eye, but he doesn’t bother looking up. Until he notices that he’s walking straight toward him.

“Hey.” He stops at the corner of Bucky’s desk and offers an easy smile, and Bucky tries not to think about how much he likes that smile. It catches him off-guard though, because he hasn’t seen Rogers smile yet, and he was beginning to think he might not do it at all with how serious he comes across most of the time. So when he’s too distracted to answer, Rogers clears his throat awkwardly and suddenly looks a bit more shy. “I wanted to ask how he’s doing.”

Bucky is totally confused for a second before his mind catches up and he realizes Rogers is talking about Clint. “He’s okay.” Rogers nods, and Bucky thinks he should probably tell him more. “Worst of it was a collapsed lung, but the paramedics got there in time. He’ll be out for a while though.”

Rogers’s expression turns concerned when Bucky mentions the collapsed lung, and he looks like he genuinely feels bad for Clint. Bucky wonders if they’ve met before or if Rogers is just a caring kind of guy.

“I’m glad to hear he’ll be okay,” he says with a hint of relief, a little smile appearing a moment later. It’s decidedly mischievous and Bucky suddenly can’t wait to hear what he says next. “And tell him I forgive him for the donuts.”

Bucky laughs. Apparently Rogers can not only smile, but he can joke too. “You found out about that, huh? Well I can’t let him take all the blame, even though it was his idea.”

“Now how do I know that’s not what you _want_ me to believe?” He can tell Rogers is teasing judging by his smile, and right then Bucky decides that he likes this guy. Screw what anyone else thinks, they probably haven’t even bothered interacting with him. Their opinions don’t matter to Bucky anyway.

He leans back in his chair and crosses his arms over his chest, fixing Rogers with a smile of his own. “Go visit him in the hospital. I bet after talking to him for a _minute_ you’ll know which one of us would most likely be the brains behind that brilliant prank yesterday.”

Rogers holds up his hands in a placating manner. “Alright, alright, I’ll take your word for it.”

“Good, ‘cause you don’t wanna visit him in the hospital, trust me. He’ll drive you nuts.” Bucky grins as Rogers laughs again, but he’s confused a moment later when the laughter dies down and he suddenly looks a little nervous.

“So, Coulson probably hasn’t had a chance to tell you yet…” he starts, looking at Bucky closely and most likely watching for his reaction. And his reaction is a mix of confusion and ‘ _Oh God now what?_ ’ Rogers seems to realize that Bucky has no idea what he’s about to say, and he gets a little more determined as he continues. “He’s taking Barton off the case.”

 _Okay.._. He’d known that Clint would be replaced. There’s no way he can heal in time to continue with the case. But why does Rogers know that?

“He’s asked me to be his replacement,” Rogers says then, and Bucky is…well more than surprised. Coulson knows how big this case is getting to be, and he wonders if he’d thought this through. Bucky himself would have put someone with more experience on the case, so that he would have someone more knowledgeable to rely on should he get stuck. But if Coulson thinks Rogers is the guy for the job, then who is Bucky to argue?

He gets over his surprise quickly, fixing Rogers with a friendly smile, and any uncertainty that he’d noticed in his expression fades. “Well then,” he says, leaning forward and extending his hand. “Guess we should be properly introduced. Bucky Barnes.”

Rogers wastes no time in reaching out and shaking his hand. “Steve Rogers.”

* * *

 

Steve ( _“You can just call me Steve, if you want”_ ), asked if Bucky wanted to take the day off, citing the fact that he’d had a rough day yesterday what with his friend in the hospital and getting really close to being shot himself. Apparently Steve was handling things well on his own, too. He’d already gotten all of the files on the case and he’d started going over them almost immediately after getting his hands on them. He’d even retrieved the evidence from the crime scene yesterday, or what evidence they had so far. Forensics hadn’t finished processing the evidence they recovered, so he and Steve will still have to wait for the lab results.

Bucky declined his offer, wanting to make up for the time he’d missed yesterday while in the hospital with Clint. So now they sit together at Steve’s desk, Steve in his chair and Bucky pulled up to the side, going over pictures and reports.

“From the looks of the victims, it seems like a shoot-out. But I noticed a similarity to the victims from the last case,” Steve states, opening up the file on the second murder that Bucky had investigated with Clint.

He nods, pulling the file toward himself, and noting similarities between the two crime scenes. In both instances, there had been two victims. And in both instances, the two victims had been killed by gunshot wounds. “You mean the fact they were all killed the same way?”

“Yeah. And by the same type of bullet. The victims from the last case were both killed by Ruger Mark IIIs. Standard Rimfire pistols. Supposedly each other’s.” Steve turns to a page with pictures of both of the handguns.

“What kind of bullets?” Bucky takes a look at the pictures from both of the files, comparing.

“.22 LR. Found in both of the victims. Same as the ones they found in the victims from the second case.”

Steve slides a picture of a bullet from yesterday’s crime scene toward him, and he picks it up, taking a closer look before comparing it to the pictures of the bullets found at the scene he’d visited four months ago.

“It was weird when both of the victims had the same gun the first time…but we could only figure that it was coincidence. Both of the vics were members of rival gangs, same as this time. Now the fact that they all have the same gun is…”

“Impossible?” Steve answers.

“Yeah. But here we are.”

“Four murders, all with the same gun,” Steve says, and Bucky shakes his head as he reaches for the file from the second case Clint had added into the ever-growing list of investigations that all came together to form one big case. It had been the first homicide Bucky had ever investigated. It wasn’t a pleasant experience.

“Not quite.” Bucky opens the file, ignoring Steve’s confused look. He sets it down in front of him, skipping over the pages with the pictures of the drowned corpses to the page containing the pictures he wants Steve to see. He doesn’t have to wait long for Steve to find what he’s talking about, and his eyes widen when he spots a picture of the bullet found in one of the victims. “.22 LR. In both vics.”

“This is…” Steve narrows his eyes, obviously doing some serious thinking. He looks over at Bucky. “Did the shooter…?”

“No, he didn’t have the gun. He got rid of it at some point, between offing the vics and dumping them and going back to his apartment, which is where he hanged himself.” Steve looks mildly offended at the way Bucky talks about the victims, but Bucky doesn’t think much of it. If they’re going to be partners, Steve will have to get used to his frankness. “We didn’t find the gun at the crime scene or at the guy’s apartment. And when we traced the gun it ended up belonging to one of the vics.”

Steve looks back at the file, looking totally stumped. “The guns in the other cases?”

“They were all registered to the people who shot them."

“So the guns, the ammo…it’s all the same.” Steve leans back in his chair, and Bucky wonders if he’d noticed the other consistency that’s glaringly obvious, and the reason they’d known from the start that these cases are connected.

“It’s not the only thing that’s the same,” he hints, and Steve looks over at him before leaning forward again. He reaches over and flips the pages in the file sitting in front of Bucky until he reaches the page with a picture of the one image that keeps reappearing.

“You mean this?” He asks, and Bucky stares down at the picture, giving a nod. “Do we know what it is?”

He shakes his head. “No idea.”

All he knows is that the same symbol has reappeared in every single case. From the car crash Morita and Clint had originally investigated, to the shooting that had taken place yesterday. Carved into the victims, or boldly drawn out on the wall next to them. Always in red. Always there. Always making him feel the same disgusting feeling in the pit of his stomach when he sees it.

The image of the red skull with six tentacles.

* * *

 

Bucky enters the hospital that evening with a bag of magazines and books, an envelope tucked into his blazer pocket, and a little smile on his face.

He’s definitely going to enjoy working with Steve.

The guy has a good sense of humor, he’s good at focusing on the job, and Bucky can see that he’s completely dedicated to it. After working with him for one day, Bucky can say that he doesn’t need to prove himself to anyone. Other people should be proving themselves to him.

He was surprised to learn that Steve had already solved the case he’d been given when he first started, and he supposes that will at least get their coworkers off his back. Luckily no one interrupted them while they were working, with the exception of Coulson, who’d had to steal Bucky away so he could explain the situation with yesterday’s shooting. He told Bucky that he wouldn’t have to do anything, he’d done more than enough by staying behind an cooperating with investigator who’d showed up at the scene not long after Clint had been taken to the hospital. He’d even given up his gun as evidence. All Bucky had really wanted to do was go after the ambulance and be there for Clint, but he knew that his department would be asking questions. Luckily there had been a ton of witnesses, it being a crime scene investigation, and Coulson had assured Bucky that he’d be cleared of any wrongdoing soon enough, especially since they’d identified the shooter as a member of the mafia. That fact had actually scared Bucky a little, because what does the mob want with him and Clint? Well, he thinks, the answer is that they want them dead, obviously, but _why_?

He didn't dwell on it, instead letting the news that he could continue on the case while the investigation was finished up keep him positive. He and Steve had continued working after that, putting together possible motives behind each individual case, and then working out all the ways they came together to make up a bigger picture. They’re still trying to figure out what in the hell that weird symbol is. Bucky thinks it could be a gang symbol, or even the symbol for some mob family they’ve never heard of, but Steve had appeared to think differently. He wasn’t going to tell him what he was thinking, but Bucky could tell by the expression on his face that he didn’t agree with him. So Bucky made him talk.

“It’s just…why would the mafia or a gang go after members of so many different groups?” Bucky had honestly wondered the same thing. All of the victims throughout the case had been from different crime groups, with the exception of a civilian in the first incident. It seemed like a really bad idea to make so many enemies.

“Maybe they’re just cocky?” It was the only answer he could think of that made sense, and Steve had immediately made a face that said he disagreed.

“I just…I don’t think that’s it. The way they set up these murders, if they _are_ the ones setting them up, which I’m beginning to think is obvious…” Bucky had nodded in agreement. There’s almost no way that these murders are isolated incidents. He’d originally thought that each time, whoever was the original assailant was placing the symbol after taking out the victim and then killing themselves, or simply not seeking out medical attention and dying at the scene. But now, with this last case…there’s almost no way the guy who’d fired the first shot could have drawn the symbol on the wall before bleeding out and losing consciousness. They’ll find out for sure once forensics is done with the evidence, and if he’s right, then…

“…then I think that whoever is doing this doesn’t have to worry about consequences,” Steve finished. Bucky had been quiet for a moment as he thought over the implications of this new theory.

Then he’d sighed, looked at the board in front of them with all of the main pieces of evidence laid out, and said “Well, I guess if we’re dealing with someone who’s not afraid of gangs or the mob, I should probably look into getting my gun back.”

He wonders how to tell Clint that they’re now dealing with something that’s bigger than any of them had originally thought, and that whatever _it_ is, it’s probably the reason why Clint’s in the hospital.

When he walks into Clint’s room he decides to forego the conversation now in favor of dumping the bag on his lap and watching his face light up.

“Your nudy magazines,” he says, grinning when that happy look on his friend’s face drops as he cranes his neck to look at the door.

“Dude! Tell me you didn’t!” Sure that no one had heard Bucky, Clint leans back again. “I don’t want to have to explain that to the nurses.” He opens the bag and looks through the contents, relieved to not find any pornographic content of any kind.

Bucky shrugs. “You could just hide ‘em under your pillow.”

Clint ignores him in favor of opening a new issue of GQ. Bucky decides that now is as good of a time as any to pop the news.

“You’ve been replaced,” he says casually, taking a seat next to the bed. He hopes that not holding any punches will be the best way for Clint to deal with the news, but by the way he looks over at him, surprise and disappointment on his face, Bucky’s not totally sure he made the right call.

“Already? I’ve been out for one day. _One._ ” He says in disbelief, looking a little pissed off as he processes the news.

“Yeah, and you’re gonna be in here for a while longer. And then after that you’re gonna be resting at home for a long time,” Bucky replies, and Clint just looks back down at the magazine in front of him. He can tell how disappointed he is, and he honestly wishes he could change that, but there’s nothing he can do. Clint won’t be allowed back on the case in his condition.

“Who’s replacing me?” He looks back over at him, and Bucky can tell that he’s running names through his mind. But he probably would never guess who Coulson had picked.

“Rogers.” Clint looks as surprised as he had when Bucky had told him he’d brought him adult magazines.

“Him? He’s only been around for like, three days!” Bucky can’t blame him for being shocked and probably a little offended. Steve really hasn’t been around long, and of course there’s the rumor that he’d gotten the job through connections. But Bucky can at least try to change Clint’s opinion of him, and make Clint feel a little better in the process.

“Yeah, but since then he’s solved the cold case he was on.” Clint looks like he’s having trouble keeping up with all the surprises he’s being handed today, and Bucky wonders if he’s supposed to be taking it easy on him while he recovers. Oh well.

“Really? Huh…” Clint looks down at his bed sheet in thought, and Bucky takes the opportunity to continue.

“You’d like him. He’s a nice guy, and he works hard.” He stops for a moment to reach into his blazer to pull out the envelope, a little smile on his face. “Plus he made you a get well card.”

Clint’s expression is priceless as Bucky hands him the envelope, and Bucky just sits back in his chair, watching his face as he opens it.

“He _made_ it for me? What…” Bucky wants to laugh as Clint opens the card, and he almost does when Clint suddenly bursts out into laughter, before wincing and placing a hand over his chest. He still has a smile on his face though, and he shakes his head, reaching over and placing the homemade card on the little stand next to his bed. “Well, guy’s got a sense of humor, I’ll give him that.”

Bucky grins as he looks over at the card. He’d actually helped Steve make it, and it was sort of his idea too, but Steve had been more than eager to go along with it. It was easy to find a picture of a donut to print out, Bucky had gotten plenty of experience with that when he’d helped Clint with the prank. All Steve needed to do was put his name at the bottom. Bucky notices that he’d also written ‘Get well soon’ above the donut.

“You like working with him?” He looks back over to see Clint watching him.

“Yeah.” Bucky wonders if he should tell Clint about the revelation Steve had gotten about their case earlier today, but then decides to save that for when Clint’s out of the hospital. “He’s smart. And he’s taking this seriously. He already read through a lot of the case yesterday when Coulson gave him the files.”

Clint nods, seeming to come to terms with his replacement. The he looks at Bucky with an expression that Bucky can only take to mean he’s about to cry. “I could not have parted with you, my Bucky, to anyone less worthy.”

Bucky stares at him. “Did you just quote Pride and Prejudice?”

Clint lets his overdramatic look drop off his face. “Hey, it’s my mom’s favorite movie okay? I’ve only had to watch it a million times,” he replies defensively, and Bucky tries to hold back his grin.

“Clint that movie came out ten years ago. You’re thirty-three. I know you weren’t still living at home back then.” Bucky knows this for a fact, because Clint had told him he’d joined the army when was twenty, and then got a place of his own when he came back home.

“So?” Clint looks clearly annoyed at being found out. “What, we can’t have mother-son movie nights? We’re close okay? Jeez, it’s called spending time with your mom Barnes, maybe you should try it sometime.”

Bucky just laughs, because he didn’t peg Barton for the momma’s boy type. But he doesn’t judge him for that. It’s actually kind of endearing.

“Anyway…” Clint starts to change the subject, and Bucky decides to let him. Just this once. “…uh, I should probably tell you that Bobbi broke up with me,” he says casually, and Bucky can tell he’s trying not to sound too down about it.

Bucky can’t hide his surprise. Barbara, or Bobbi, the woman Clint had met in the bar a couple of days ago, had seemed to really like Clint. Granted, they’d only been together for a little more than two days, but they’d texted each other almost constantly during that time. It had kind of annoyed Bucky.

“Really? Why? That sucks…” He doesn’t really know what else to say. It really does suck. First Clint gets shot, then stuck in the hospital, then taken off his case, and now his girlfriend breaks up with him. Maybe Bucky should bring him candy next time he comes in. Or Pride and Prejudice on Bluray, whatever will cheer him up more.

“Yeah…she uh…she came in to see me and she told me she thought that she could handle what we do, but…now that this happened, it’s just a shock for her y’know?”

Bucky nods, understanding a little more now. She probably hasn’t had to deal with someone she’d been dating getting shot before. Especially not after two days of dating them. He imagines it would be shocking, and stressful.

“I’m sorry pal,” he says, reaching out and giving Clint’s shoulder a squeeze. Clint just shakes his head.

“I should’ve seen it coming though. She acted like she was fine with the job, but I could tell she was a little put-off by it when I first told her. Of course she wouldn’t stick around now.” He looks so dejected, sitting there, and Bucky decides that they’ll need to find him a date as soon as he’s feeling better. They could go out and Bucky could help him regale the ladies with the heroic story of how he got shot. It wouldn’t be that difficult at all, with how Clint had really actually been a hero.

“Well hey, at least she didn’t break up with you because you’re obnoxious,” he teases, and Clint looks at him with a grin.

“You callin’ me obnoxious, Barnes?”

“Well I ain’t callin’ you a peach,” he replies, Brooklyn accent thick, and Clint laughs.

“You’re a jackass.” He’s still got a grin, and Bucky can tell he isn’t serious.

“Only when you need me to be,” he replies, getting up. “You should try and get some more rest. I gotta go and take care of your dog.”

Clint looks up at him like he’s a little sad to see Bucky go. “I get plenty of rest in here, trust me. There’s not much else for me to do.” He opens one arm for a hug and Bucky gives him one, patting his back a couple of times before letting him go. “Take care of my guy, okay?”

“Don’t worry, he’s in good hands,” Bucky assures him, walking toward the door.

“Hey Barnes!” Bucky stops when Clint calls his name, and he turns around to look at him. “Tell Rogers that I liked his card. But my favorite donut’s cream-filled.”

Bucky looks back at the card. They’d put a chocolate-sprinkled donut on the page.

“I’ll let him know Clint. See ya.” He continues toward the door, and he hears Clint’s “Bye” trail out the door after him as he leaves. On his way out of the hospital, his phone vibrates, and he slips it out of his pocket, expecting a text from Natasha or maybe even Clint. The name that appears on his screen is a new one though, one he’d just entered a two hours earlier, when he and Steve had exchanged numbers before leaving for the day. He unlocks the screen, wondering if Steve’s messaging him because he’s heard from forensics.

_‘How’d he like the card?’_

Well, he hadn’t really been expecting that. Bucky grins, typing out a reply.

_‘He laughed. But he told me to let you know that we didn’t get the donut right. His favorite is cream-filled.’_

He hits send and his phone vibrates a few seconds later, as he’s fishing out his car keys.

_‘I’ll have to keep that in mind. How long is he in there for?’_

_‘A week. But it could be sooner. The nurse said that if he behaves, he should be out by Friday at the latest.’_

He hits the unlock button for his car as he enters the parking lot, and he hears it beep from down the lane.

_‘Well that’s a ways away, but at least he’s where he needs to be. He’s probably excited to go home though.’_

_‘Yeah, right. I think he’d stay in there forever if he could. He loves it in there. And now that he’s single I bet he flirts with all the nurses.’_

He sends the text as he gets into his car, but he decides to hold off on starting it for now, since it would only waste gas while he sits there texting.

_‘Really? That’s weird. I don’t think anyone is supposed to LIKE hospitals. He doesn’t want to go home?’_

_‘Well Clint’s a fan of free jello, plus I’ve been bringing him free magazines so I’m probably just enabling. He misses his dog though, so he’ll want to get home eventually. I’m taking care of Lucky for now, but it’s not like I can bring him in to visit.’_

_‘You’re watching his dog? That’s nice of you.’_

_‘Not really. Lucky’s pretty easy. He doesn’t need all that much, and he’s the most easy-going dog I’ve ever met.’_

_‘Is he friendly with other dogs? If you want, maybe we could meet up at a dog park and I could bring my dog over. He might like someone to play with.’_

Bucky is surprised at the offer, but he decides that Lucky would probably like hanging out with another dog.

_‘Sure, sounds good. When would you be free?’_

_‘I’m free tomorrow afternoon, if you’re available.’_

He thinks about his plans for tomorrow. He usually doesn’t have much planned on Sundays, aside from the family dinners that his mom makes him attend, and other than that he'd just been hoping to get a work out in, so he's pretty free.

_‘Yeah, how’s 1?’_

_‘1 is great, see you then.’_

Bucky finds himself looking forward to meeting up with Steve. There are definitely worse people he could hang out with, and he feels like he and Steve get along really well. So as long as his dog and Lucky don’t hate each other, Bucky imagines he’ll have a pretty good time.

He starts his car and pulls out of the parking space, then makes his way back to Clint’s apartment. He can only hope he’ll be able to relax there. He hadn’t gotten much sleep last night, and he knows it’s because of what happened with Clint. The nightmares were much worse, and this time the person that always appears in his dream that recurs most often wasn’t the same. Clint replaced him. Clint had been the one to die.

When Bucky had woken up, he’d jolted up so hard off the couch he’d scared Dorothy, who jumped over to the coffee table and knocked his empty glass of whiskey off it and onto the floor. It had smashed everywhere, of course, and Bucky could only hope that he hadn’t accidentally woken up the nice old lady who lives in the apartment below his.

He’d ended up spending the rest of the night cleaning up the mess and then sitting on the couch to watch TV, his right hand wrapped around the upper part of his left arm as the scar imprinted on his skin ached the way it always does after especially bad dreams.

He entertains the possibility of getting a better night’s sleep at Clint’s, but he doubts he will. If he can’t relax at home then there are probably few places that will be better. Although if he does have trouble sleeping tonight, he can always steal some of Clint’s beer. It’s the best he’ll be able to do to help him sleep while he’s over there, since he knows that Clint is all about being healthy and doesn’t bother with a liquor cabinet. Despite his weird thing for donuts, he doesn’t even keep junk food in the apartment (something Bucky had refused to believe when he’d first found out), and he saves all of his cravings for when he’s not home. It keeps Clint in good shape, but as a result Bucky will have to make do with the few bottles of Heineken he keeps in the fridge. Or, Bucky thinks, maybe a hot shower or a bath might help. If he has to, he could try sleep medication, but he doesn’t particularly like relying on pills. If things are starting to get worse though, he’ll have to do _something_ so that he can sleep.

He briefly considers calling up his old therapist, but then quickly banishes the idea. He’d feel like he’s admitting defeat. Like he hasn’t been able to get over the things that truly used to get to him. He’s gotten so much better since first coming back home, and the very idea of him slipping into the way he was back then is horrifying. Now though, as he thinks about what he can do to help himself sleep at night, he has to wonder if he’s really recovered from everything as much as he’d thought, or if he’s just been fooling himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Medvezhonok"-"Little bear" in Russian. It's a term of endearment, and I figured it would be the closest I could get to a Russian version of Bucky Bear. I think it's like a thing now that Natasha has pet names for Bucky, and it's a thing I can totally get behind.
> 
> Also! Major credit to CaliFornia for the whole Steve-sends-a-donut-get-well-card-to-Clint idea. It's so good, and I'm so happy she let me use it. :)
> 
> And finally- I'll be away on vacation all next week at a place with NO INTERNET (I know, pray for me), which means that if I get any comments while I'm there I won't be able to reply to them until I get back next Sunday. I feel like I'm so very fortunate to get so much wonderful feedback on this story, and I try to reply to all of your comments as soon as I can, so I just want to give everyone a heads-up that I won't be able to do that next week. I'll definitely get caught up with them when I return though!
> 
> See you next time for chapter 5 of Blood Red Burdens! :D


	5. "Brooklyn."

**S** teve sighs into the phone, knowing that any attempts to stifle his guilt will be futile, especially with the outraged brunette on the other end of the line voicing her disappointment.

“Pegs I swear I was gonna call you-“

“ _When_ exactly, Steven?”

He swallows. If her tone isn’t intimidating then the fact that she’d just used his full name definitely makes up for it.

“As soon as I could, you know we haven’t talked in a while and I-“

“You’re right, we haven’t. Which is why I’ve missed out on hearing about your new job and your new case and your new television-“

“Now, that’s not important Peggy, c’mon…”

“-until my cousin lets me know. My cousin kept me up-to-date on your life Steve.” She doesn’t let him interrupt her, and Steve doesn’t even know why he’d tried. He does feel bad for not calling her earlier, but Sharon had kept him on the phone for a good forty-five minutes last night as they got caught up, and afterward Steve had been so tired from working on the case that he’d fallen straight asleep right there on the couch. He’d actually been planning on calling Peggy, until Sharon had called him first. Then she’d apparently talked to Peggy sometime between last night and about five minutes ago, when Peggy had called him, and told him all about Steve’s news.

“I’m sorry. I really am, I was gonna call you last night, but then Sharon called and I was so tired I fell asleep afterward. But I promise that I _was_ going to call you, Peggy.” He tries to placate her as he walks down the street toward the café on the corner. Sharon had decided that chatting over the phone last night wasn’t enough, and so she’d talked him into meeting for coffee this morning.

“Well, I _suppose_ I can forgive you. But only if you come over here for Christmas.” Steve smiles at the thought of seeing London in wintertime. He doesn’t really have anything else to do for Christmas. With both of his parents deceased, and all of his grandparents gone, Steve usually ends up spending his Christmases with his extended family, or sometimes Sam will invite him over to his folk's instead. Which is fine, but he feels that Peggy is family to him and he’s only gone over there for Christmas once before. He goes over to visit once a year but it’s typically in the spring, and she used to come to New York to spend time with Steve and the part of her family living in America in the fall. But she hasn’t been able to spare the time to travel since her second child came along, not to mention the fact that she’s been managing her demanding career on top of that. So Steve isn't going to pass up this chance to go and visit his childhood friend and her family.

“And see my favorite niece and nephew? Well I don’t know…how much am I allowed to spend on them for presents?”

Peggy laughs at the other end, and Steve realizes how much he’d missed the sound. “You know, you spoil them more than their actual uncles.”

“And I’m not gonna let them forget it,” Steve replies, a smile on his face as he nears the café. He stops just outside and looks through the window to see if he can spot Sharon. He’s still ten minutes early though, and she hasn't arrived yet.

“Well, you can spoil them as much as you like, as long as you come visit. It’ll be just like last time. We’ll have a tree and Christmas dinner, and you can give the kids piggyback rides all night.”

Steve winces a little at the memory, resisting to rub at his back when he almost feels the reminder of the aching muscles he'd had the next day.

“Tell you what, how ‘bout I take the kids out for a whole day and we go have some fun so you can get a break during the holidays, and we skip the piggyback rides.”

“You have yourself a deal,” she replies, her tone now amused and devoid of the displeasure it held before. Steve takes the success and cherishes it, because it’s not always easy to get Peggy Carter to forgive so easily, even if she does have a soft spot for him. “How’s your mother?”

Steve’s lips turn into a small, melancholy smile at the question. “She’s good. Just visited her this morning, gave her new flowers. The ones I left last week were still there, but they all died.” He’d been a little disappointed when he’d found them there in front of her grave, all brown and making it look a little gloomy. His mother would have hated that.

“Well, it _is_ still the middle of summer Steve, and I still remember how hot it can get there. They probably dehydrated rather quickly and you can't help that. I’m sure she understood.” Peggy knows what to say to make him feel better, and he’s always thankful for that. He feels the effect of her words immediately, and his smile becomes a little more genuine.

“Yeah, guess you’re right.”

“Of course I am. You know that.” Steve laughs. He should’ve been expecting that. “Are you meeting with Sharon?”

“Yeah, I’m here now, I was just waiting for her to get here.” He looks into the café again, and this time he sees her familiar head of blond hair heading toward a table near the window. “Looks like she just got here.”

“Well then I’ll let you go. But Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t forget to call me again.” He hears the threat in her voice, and he knows he’s learned his lesson.

“I won’t. Promise.”

After that she bids him goodbye, and he enters the café, smiling at Sharon as she stands up from her seat to give him a hug. He returns it and gives her cheek a peck before sitting down across from her.

“So, I saw that you were on the phone as I came in." Her expression says she knows exactly who he was talking to.

“Yeah. That was fun. Thanks for the heads-up, by the way.” Steve’s tone is teasing, he can’t really be upset with Sharon for telling Peggy about his job. After all, he hadn’t asked her to keep it a secret or anything. He still hadn’t been expecting her to talk to her so soon though, so a part of him is a little annoyed at the situation in general. Sharon either picks up that he’s joking, or doesn’t care, because she just laughs.

“Well, when she called me this morning I thought you’d already told her the news. But yeah…sorry. How much trouble did I get you in?” She winces sympathetically, probably getting a preview of Peggy’s reaction to not being told earlier about Steve’s promotion when she’d let it slip on the phone this morning.

“Well she wasn’t happy,” Steve replies. “But I promised her a trip over for Christmas and she forgave me pretty quick.”

“Yeah, she’s been planning some way to get you over there for Christmas for a while now. I guess she found her opportunity. You should be thanking me.” Sharon gives a teasing smile, and Steve laughs.

“I think _she’s_ the one who should thank you. I’m the one who was wronged here,” he states, though the smile on his face tells her that he’s not serious.

“Well, would a coffee make up for it?” She tilts her head in question, and typically Steve would argue, but she’s offering and Peggy’s voice calling him by his full name is still fresh in his mind.

“Sure, but only this time. You can't always buy my forgiveness with coffee,” he says with a grin, and she rolls her eyes at him before getting up and making her way to the counter to order.

He thinks over what to ask her when she comes back, and he realizes that they hadn’t really talked about her much last night over the phone. She’d been wanting to know about his new job and about his cases, and he’d been happy to talk about both, in detail. So when she comes back, two lattes in hand, Steve already has a few topics to bring up.

“So how’s work?” He brings the hot coffee to his lips and takes a sip, taking care to get rid of any foam that might linger afterward.

She sighs and leans back in her seat. “Well, the firm is busy. I mean, it’s usually busy, but I’ve been mentoring more interns this past month than I have since I started there. Plus there’s the casework and then of course my boss just wants to keep giving me more to do because I’m ‘such a promising young attorney who needs to keep building her experience and expanding her horizons…’” she mocks her boss with a deep, quirky voice and Steve chuckles into his latte. “…so yeah. That’s been work. Nothing new, aside from the hot paralegal who just got hired.”

“Yeah?” Steve’s interested now. Sharon’s been single for a while, ever since she broke up with the lead singer of that rock band. What was his name? Something with a T…Tore? Thor?

“Yeah,” Sharon replies, bringing him out of his thoughts. “He’s pretty cute, but I don’t know if it’s gonna go anywhere…” She eyes him speculatively, a little smile tilting her lips, and Steve already knows what she’s going to ask before she even opens her mouth. “So…what about you? Any hunks at work catch your eye?”

Steve barks a laugh and shakes his head. “Uh…not really, I’m kind of just focusing on the job for now.” As amused by the question as he is, he still feels uncomfortable with answering it. To be honest, he still carries around some guilt for their breakup, even though it’s been almost four years. Still, it had been his fault, and he feels terrible for not knowing himself well enough before entering into the relationship. Granted, he hadn’t really given himself the chance, instead throwing himself into things that demanded his attention externally, like the army and getting himself in-shape and staying healthy.

Growing up, Steve hadn’t really thought about girls all that much. The only ones he’d cared about were his mam and his grannies. He didn’t get to see his granny on his mam’s side that often, since she still lived in Ireland, where his mam had immigrated from after she'd gotten engaged to his dad. But he still talked to her and wrote her letters, and she’d send him letters back and fun things for St. Patrick’s Day and his birthday every year.

He didn’t really give girls much thought at all. He was skinny and he was bullied and all he really cared about was growing big and strong so he wouldn’t go through that anymore. When he met Peggy, he’d been in the third grade, and she’d transferred in from England. He thought her accent was so pretty, and everyone else did too. But everyone found out pretty quick that Peggy was different. All the girls in their class would ask if she wanted to play with them at recess, and she always said no. Then she’d go and play dodgeball or baseball or whatever sport the boys were playing that day. Steve would be really impressed with her, because sometimes she was even better than all the boys, and he couldn’t even play for five minutes without his asthma bothering him. The other boys must not have liked it though, because soon they were telling her that she couldn’t play with them. That she was a girl, and so no one wanted her on their team. One day she got mad and left, stomping away from the soccer game they were setting up, and Steve watched as she walked over to a tree in the corner of the playground and sat down with a loud huff. He joined her a few moments later, offering her one of his colored pencils and a sheet of paper out of his sketchbook. She smiled at him and then they were friends.

He didn’t think of her as anything other than a friend until the sixth grade, when she cornered him in an empty hallway while everyone was at lunch and planted one on his lips. She said she’d wanted to be his first kiss, because they were best friends and no one else deserved to kiss him more than her. Steve thought she was absolutely right.

After that Steve had it bad for Peggy, but he knew he’d never stand a chance. Ever since they’d become friends, Peggy had been telling him about a boy she knew back in England. They’d grown up together, until Peggy had moved over to America. After that she only saw him during the holidays and summers, when she’d go back to London. That didn’t change how she felt about him though. “I’m going to marry him someday,” she’d say, and Steve had believed her when they were little, but as they grew up he thought she was being a little too hopeful with her crush, that she couldn’t possibly be serious about wanting to marry someone when she was so young and had no idea what love was.

But he’d had to give up his crush on her for good when she came back from her summer vacation their Sophomore year, with a big smile on her face. Because that was when she told him that she’d kissed that boy, and Steve was shocked. All that time she’d been talking about him and saying how much she loved him, but he’d never thought about him feeling the same way, and he’d never asked. Maybe he was afraid of the answer. But when he was faced with heartbreak and never getting to be the special guy in her life, Steve found that he got over it pretty quickly. Sure, he’d cried some, and moped about for a while. But in the end, he valued her friendship more than anything, and so life had went on, and Steve and Peggy were still best friends.

Then they’d graduated and Steve had joined the army and Peggy married that boy, and he was her man of honor. Steve was back to not thinking about girls, instead putting his focus into his army career and his mother, who had gotten very sick. Then he’d come home and after a few months of establishing his life as a citizen and living in New York again, he’d met Sharon.

He thought it was meant to be after they’d gone on a few dates and he found out she was Peggy’s cousin. Peggy herself had been thrilled, because she loved Sharon and she thought that she and Steve would be great together. Steve was glad to have her approval too, because he’d been concerned about getting it ever since she’d kissed him outside the girl’s bathroom back in sixth grade.

But then he found that he’d made one of the biggest mistakes of his life. Because he’d never really thought about girls, and it turned out there was a reason for that.

When he realized he was gay it had taken him forever to tell Sharon, and by the time he did she could already tell something was wrong. He had been acting strange, had been distant and had kept to himself a lot. It wasn’t fair to her and it made Steve feel even worse for taking so long with telling her. When he finally did, she had been shocked, of course. But she wasn’t angry, and she didn’t yell, or throw things, or even break down in front of him. She just left their shared apartment, came back a few hours later, and then hugged him and said she would be okay. He’d tried to apologize, but she wouldn’t let him, because it wasn’t something he should have to apologize for. Even so, Steve still feels bad about taking so long to tell her. He feels bad about getting into a relationship with her in the first place, when he really should have been more self-aware, but as Peggy has told him multiple times, he can be “quite thick-headed.”

So now, when she asks about his love life, Steve tries to ignore the fact that he’d let her down, had probably broken her heart, because he knows that she just wants him to be happy, just like he wants her to be.

Still, it doesn’t completely erase the awkward feeling.

She just laughs at his reply. “So serious about work. You know you can multi-task right?” Her smile fades a little, and she looks down at her latte, a thoughtful look on her face. When she looks back at him, her expression is soft. “And you know you can tell me when you meet someone Steve. I just want you to be happy. You know that, right?”

Steve knows how lucky he is to still have her as a friend.

“I know. And don’t worry, when I meet someone you’ll be the first to know. I just…” he takes a moment to think, leaning back against his chair a little. “…I haven’t found the right person yet.”

Sharon watches him, her knowing eyes finding things in him that he probably doesn’t know are there. “Well, you won’t know if you’ve found the right person if you don’t keep your eyes open. And I know you, Steve Rogers. You’re blind to things sometimes, especially when you’re focused on one thing. And right now, that one thing seems like work. Just…make sure you try and focus on other things too, okay? If you’re not careful, you might miss something wonderful right in front of you.”

Steve gives her a reassuring smile. “I know. I’ll try, okay?” And Sharon gives him a look that says she’s not completely satisfied, but she drops the subject in favor of helping him plan his trip to England in December.

* * *

 

He gets to the dog park at five minutes to one, Jackson wagging his tail excitedly as he takes in all the new sights, sounds, and smells. They haven’t been to this dog park yet, since it’s not the one closest to his apartment. He’d agreed to meet Bucky at whichever dog park was closest to Clint’s place, but Bucky ended up suggesting he meet Steve halfway so Steve wouldn’t have to go too far. The one they’d chosen is pretty nice, with lots of grass and trees. The area isn’t very big, being New York City, but it’s big enough for dogs to run around and play and chase each other. It also has benches so that owners don’t have to stand around the whole time, and Steve thinks it’ll be nice to let Jackson off his leash and just run around while he sits back and watches. He typically gets along fine with other dogs, as long as the other dogs aren’t jerks, so hopefully he finds some friends to play with today.

Steve gets Jackson's leash off, watching as he runs around the gated area, golden tail wagging. He goes up to some other dogs, sniffing their faces and of course, other parts. When Steve determines that the other dogs seem friendly, he relaxes a bit and takes a seat on a nearby bench, watching as Jackson runs around with a German shepherd a little bigger than him.

He’s only there for a few minutes when another dog runs up to the German shepherd and Jackson, and introduces himself in doggie fashion. He’s an adorable Golden retriever-mix, all long hair and big brown eyes. He seems to be friendly too, his tail wagging back and forth as he sniffs at the other dogs happily.

“I don’t know what Clint was worried about, Lucky’s pretty much the friendliest dog ever.” Bucky catches Steve by surprise, and he looks over with wide eyes. He recovers quickly enough, and gives him a smile. Bucky looks…different today. He’s dressed in a plain red long-sleeved shirt and a pair of basketball shorts, running shoes on his feet. Steve is used to seeing him in a suit or at least most of one, when he doesn't want to wear his blazer. Steve still thinks he looks good, but then he seems the kind that could probably pull off anything.

“Was Clint worried he’d be different around other dogs?” Steve asks, watching as Bucky takes a seat next to him on the bench. Bucky’s still looking over at Lucky, probably making sure that he’s not going to get in any trouble while on his watch.

“Nah, he’s more worried about how other dogs will be around him. He’s kind of like an overprotective parent.” Bucky grins to himself as he says this, and Steve gets the feeling that it’s something he probably teases Clint about.

“Well, I can kind of relate to that,” Steve replies, watching Jackson sniff a patch of grass near the fence. “I’ve had Jackson since he was a puppy, so he’s like family.”

“Yeah, Clint’s had Lucky through a lot, so it makes sense. I just like making fun of him for it.” He raises a mischievous brow at Steve, who gives a laugh.

“Do you have a pet?” He asks, still looking at Bucky who goes back to watching the dogs. It’s probably good that at least one of them is paying attention.

“Yeah, a cat. Her name’s Dorothy.”

“How long have you had her?” Bucky huffs a little breath, his eyes drifting up toward the sky as he thinks.

“I got her not long after coming home so…almost four years ago now?”

“Coming home?” Steve has a pretty good idea of what Bucky means, has heard the phrase plenty of times, but still asks for clarification just in case he's wrong. Bucky nods, looking back at Lucky and Jackson.

“Yeah, got back from my third tour in Iraq and I’ve been home since then.”

“Army?”

“Marines.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Steve replies, a bit of good-natured snark hinted in his tone. He can't help but add fuel to the competitive fire. After all, he's an army guy, through-and-through, so he just wouldn't be fulfilling his duty if he doesn't. Bucky looks over at him, brows drawn slightly in confusion. “Army,” he says with a smile. “But I had friends in the marines.” He looks over at the dogs in time to see Jackson and Lucky waiting among a small group of other dogs to be thrown a chew toy by an excited kid.

“Yeah?" Steve can tell there's a grin on Bucky's face before he looks back over and sees it there. "Well then I'm sure they already told you how much better we are." Steve laughs and shakes his head, but Bucky changes the topic before they can tease each other more. "Were you overseas?”

Steve looks over to watch as the kid finally throws the toy, Jackson immediately jumping up above all of the other dogs and catching it in his mouth. He smiles, feeling a little proud. “Yeah, two tours. Afghanistan.”

Bucky doesn’t reply, and Steve doesn’t say anything for a little while. He continues watching the dogs play instead, watching them run around with the other dogs in the park. Jackson and Lucky seem to get along well enough, but it’s tough to tell with so many other distractions. They haven’t really gotten the chance to spend time together, just the two of them.

“How long you been back?” Steve looks back over at Bucky when he hears him speak.

“Four years, eleven months.” _Eight days_ , Steve thinks to himself. The fact that he knows how long he’s been out down to the day might be suspect, so he doesn’t ever reveal that knowledge aloud. “You said you've been back four years?”

“Yeah. Be five years in August since my last tour ended.” Steve nods, eyes moving to check on the dogs before coming back to Bucky.

“When did you start Police Academy?” Steve had been wondering for a while, honestly. They’re around the same age, wouldn’t they have gone to academy at around the same time?

“’Bout six months after getting back, I think,” Bucky replies, a thoughtful look on his face.

“I entered after being back for a little over a month, so I must’ve graduated before you joined.” Well that explains why they hadn’t bumped into each other then. Steve wonders if they would have been good friends by now if they had. “You worked mostly over in Lower Manhattan, right?” He recalls the officers at his old department in Brooklyn mentioning that when they were talking about the investigation Bucky led on Alexander Pierce.

Bucky looks at him like he’s wondering how he knew that, but doesn’t ask. “Yeah, that’s where they put me. Didn’t really wanna be there, but there was a crime spike when I was being placed, so they needed more officers.”

“Really?” Steve’s confused, because there aren’t a lot of people who wouldn’t choose Lower Manhattan. It’s certainly less crime-ridden than other parts of New York. “Where’d you want to be?”

“Brooklyn,” Bucky replies, a little smile on his face, and Steve would think he’s crazy if he hadn’t chosen to work in Brooklyn himself.

“Brooklyn huh?” Steve smiles as well, admittedly enjoying the fact that he was placed where Bucky had wanted to go. “That’s where I got put.”

“Yeah? They force you over there kicking and screaming?” Steve laughs, knows that most officers wouldn’t pick Brooklyn as their borough-of-choice to work in, considering the statistically higher crime rates. But Brooklyn is home. So while he would’ve done his best in another place, he’s happy he was placed there. Well, until he got promoted, at least.

He shakes his head. “Nah, I wanted to be there. It’s home. Lived there all my life.”

Bucky’s expression shifts immediately into surprise. “Wait, really? I couldn’t tell.” He gets a little smile on his face then. “But I guess I can’t say much. I started losing any accent I had after my parents moved to Queens when I was a kid.”

“What?” Steve replies, grinning. “ _Queens?_ ”

Bucky laughs. “I know, I didn’t wanna move but I didn’t have a choice, ‘specially not at eight years old. My parents needed a bigger place after kid number three was born. I moved back after coming home though.”

“Well, I thought I heard a bit of an accent earlier, but I wasn't too sure."  
"Yeah?" Bucky looks at him with what Steve thinks is a bit of hope, and he can tell Bucky had been more disappointed than he'd let on about having to move.

"Yeah, a few times."

“Well, sometimes I do it intentionally. Mostly just around Clint though, it annoys the hell out of him. It’s fun, you should try it sometime.” Steve can tell that the wheels in Bucky’s head are turning as he looks at him, and he wonders if he’s going to be dragged into using his accent for evil so he can help Bucky torture his ex-partner.

“But you’re back in Brooklyn now?”

Bucky nods. “Yeah, I have a place in Red Hook. Know it’s not the most sought-after area or anything, but my place is nice. It’s roomy.” Bucky looks back over at the dogs, his arms crossed over his chest as he relaxes back against the bench.

“Hey, I won't knock it. I’ve heard pros and cons. But if your place is _roomy_ , then what else matters, right?”

Bucky laughs, and Steve watches the way his eyes crinkle at the edges when he does. “Exactly.” He looks back at Steve. “So where are you at?”

“Brooklyn Heights.”

Bucky whistles. “You must be shellin’ out for rent, huh?”

He shrugs. “It’s not so bad. My place is small, the building's older, and it's owned by an elderly lady who appreciates help with carrying her groceries every once in a while.”

He hears Bucky chuckle a little and then mumble something to himself.

“What’s that?” He’s pretty sure he either heard _“Bad that’s not the pony sting spaceship apes”_ or _“Bet that’s not the only thing she appreciates”_ but he really doesn’t think Bucky could have said the second thing, so the first thing seems just as likely.

“Nothin’,” he replies, a sly little smile on his face, and Steve reconsiders his stance on what he’d mumbled. “You just reminded me to get groceries later.”

“Oh.” Steve's pretty sure he doesn't believe Bucky, but decides to let it slide.

“Looks like they get along pretty well,” he suddenly says, and Steve looks back over to the dogs. They’re laying down in a patch of shade, both panting almost simultaneously.

“Yeah, but I’m not too surprised. Lucky seems like a good dog.”

“He is,” Bucky grunts a little as he sits up in favor of leaning forward a bit. “’Cept when he has to go pee at 4 am.”

Steve laughs, a hint of sympathy welling up at Bucky’s dog-sitting struggles. “Barton hasn’t trained him to go at certain times?”

“You kidding? The only thing Barton’s trained him to do is beg for pizza.” He sighs, shaking his head. “Lucky is basically the most spoiled dog ever.”

“Well, you’ll have him for a while right? Maybe you can teach him some new things.”

“Yeah, I’ll teach him to poop on Clint’s pillow,” Bucky quips with a smile, and Steve can’t help but laugh again.

They sit in silence for a little while after that, watching the dogs rest in the shade. Jackson seems to realize they’re being watched, and he looks over at them before getting up and trotting over. Steve greets him with scratches behind the ears, and Lucky seems to think he might get the same treatment because he walks over to Bucky, who gives him some pets of his own. They figure the dogs are probably thirsty at this point, so they decide to get them some water and then walk through the park for a little bit. They talk as they walk along the path, and Steve learns more about Bucky and shares more about himself. He finds out Bucky has four sisters, all younger, and that the youngest is about to graduate high school. Steve tells him that he’s an only child and of course Bucky wants to know more about what _that_ was like growing up, because apparently there’s no privacy when you have four younger siblings. He learns that Bucky had been eager to leave the house when he was young, and the military seemed like a great option, since his dad is a retired army Major. So he took his junior and senior years together, and at seventeen he graduated, signed up for the marines, and went off to basic two weeks later. Apparently his mom hadn’t been happy about it, but his dad was in full support, he’d even given his permission since Bucky had needed it to join the marines while still a minor. Steve sympathizes with him, his mother hadn’t been happy when Steve had joined the army. She’d made him wait until he turned eighteen, and then the day after he’d been in the recruiting center. He mentions the fact that he’d joined partly because his dad had been killed in action, and Bucky offers his sympathies. He asks when he’d passed and Steve tells him what he knows, that it was during the Gulf War, but he can’t tell him any more than that because his mother hadn’t ever told him specifics. It was most likely to protect him, and even though it grated on Steve growing up, he thinks he understands her decision better now. Bucky mentions that their moms sound kind of alike. That no matter how old their kids are they’ll always want to protect them, and Steve doesn’t mention the fact that his mom is gone, but he does say that he agrees with Bucky. He finds himself wanting to meet Bucky’s mom. She sounds like a good person.

They walk for a good forty minutes, talking about themselves and then New York and their favorite restaurants and bars and old haunts. They walk until the dogs are panting again, and then they finally decide to go their separate ways, with Steve giving a "Bye” and Bucky saying an “See you tomorrow."

It isn’t until Steve gets home that he realizes he hadn’t even thought to ask Bucky anything about that case he’d solved months ago.

* * *

 

The rest of his evening is pretty uneventful. He feeds Jackson and gets him settled, then heads out and meets Sam at the gym for a work out before returning home and eating some dinner. He showers and then reads for a while, and falls asleep on the couch for about twenty minutes. Jackson wakes him up when he hops up onto him and licks his face sometime after nine, and he decides that he may as well get to bed.

He brushes his teeth and then goes to his bedroom, slipping under the covers and getting comfortable. Jackson jumps up on the bed to sleep next to him, and then he closes his eyes and falls asleep not two minutes later.

When he wakes up next, it’s to the sound of Born in the USA playing somewhere next to him, and he groans to himself as he reaches for his phone, reminding himself for the umpteenth time to change the ringtone Sam had set as a joke forever ago.

He checks the time when he manages to grab it, noting the fact that it’s a little after midnight. When he sees the name listed on the screen he stares in confusion before answering, his voice betraying the fact that he’d just woken up.

“Bucky?”

“Hope you got some good sleep, ‘cause you’re not gonna be sleeping again anytime soon.”

“What?” Steve sits up a little, leaning back against his forearm.

“There’s been another incident. They found a guy down at Pier 83 in Hell’s Kitchen. Can you be there in forty?”

“I’ll be there in thirty,” Steve replies, throwing back his covers and hopping out of bed. It’s a good thing he’d gotten a couple hours in, he thinks. He’ll definitely be up for the night now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter is a little shorter than usual, but I wanted the next part to be in Bucky's POV so things kind of just turned out that way. But if you want to read something entirely different that has nothing to do with this story but is written by me, I just posted a short little fic so feel free to go check that out! And maybe it'll make up for the length of this one? Hopefully? 
> 
> The next chapter will be out this weekend, at the latest, so until next time!


	6. "I can take care of myself."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know that I'm already using the tag for graphic depictions of violence, but it really applies in this chapter, and I thought I'd give a heads-up for that. There's also graphic depictions of gore, so please be aware of that.
> 
> On top of that, if you have emetophobia, or are uncomfortable with people throwing up, there is a point in this chapter that you might want to skip over. If that's the case, I would suggest you stop reading at "bright red and neatly drawn" and continue at "The heavy silence".
> 
> And that's it for additional warnings, so please enjoy the chapter! :)

**B** ucky gets to Pier 83 about twenty minutes after talking to Steve. There hadn’t been much traffic, it being after midnight on a Sunday night (Monday morning, if he’s going to get technical), so he’d had a pretty easy drive. He isn’t surprised when he doesn’t see Steve as he walks toward the crime scene. Bucky had already been in his car when he called him, so he’s probably still ten or fifteen minutes away.

Some of the officers recognize him as he approaches the yellow tape, but he pulls out his badge anyway and flashes it at one of the officers, who barely glances at it before giving a small nod. He slips under the tape and looks around.

He can see the body toward the middle of the area, illuminated by portable work lights. For now, he leaves it to the crime scene investigators, instead using the light to try and identify familiar faces. It doesn’t take him long to spot one that he’s seen at every crime scene he’s been to since becoming a detective.

“James.” Bucky’s greeting earns him a grin when the other man hears him and looks up.

“Ah, James, you’re here. Good.” Bucky returns the grin easily, walking over to him. It’s always amusing to talk to Falsworth. His quick wit is something Bucky can appreciate. He’d originally thought his name was “Monty,” because that was what Clint had called him when they’d first met. Then when Falsworth found out that he and Bucky both share the same first name _and_ that they both go by nicknames formed from their middle names, he started to act like calling Bucky by his actual name was some secret little joke. Bucky has always been adverse to people using his first name, but he decided to get in on the joke anyway, and also call Monty by his first name. It probably confuses people, which makes it worth it to Bucky.

“What do we have?” Bucky glances over at the body, watching as a flashlight being used by one of the CSIs illuminates a hole in the victim’s head.

“Apparent suicide, at first glance.” Falsworth answers, flipping a page over in the notebook he’d been writing in and looking over it. “One gunshot wound to the head. Some wounds on the back of the head, and I’d assume that’s from falling after he shot himself, but you know what they say about assuming.”

“Why are we thinking suicide?”

“Well, from the position of the gun….” Falsworth gestures toward the weapon, laying on the ground next to the victim. “…it looks as if he’d been holding it in his hand when he died. The way the bullet entered the victim is also indicative of a self-inflicted gunshot wound. The smoke and powder from the shot badly burned him, and there’s a bruise from the barrel on his temple.”

Bucky stares over at the gun laying on the ground. From where they’re standing, it’s too far away for him to tell what kind of gun it is. But he’s willing to bet he already knows.

“Weapon?”

Falsworth looks back down to his notes. “Standard Rimfire pistol…a Ruger Mark III.”

Bucky nods, swallowing hard. He’s not surprised, but it’s still difficult to hear.

“Is there any way this could be a homicide?” He looks over at Falsworth, crossing his arms over his chest. It’s the first day of June, but the air by the water makes it feel like January. It probably doesn’t help that he’d forgotten a jacket in his rush to get to the scene. He’d barely remembered to put on underwear, having had to quickly change out of his pajamas and into some slacks and a button-down so he could get here. He suddenly realizes he’d forgotten to put on socks. Maybe no one will notice.

Falsworth directs an amused smile toward him. “Well detective, that’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” He looks back over at the victim, his gaze assessing. “There _is_ the possibility of someone else pulling the trigger. They would’ve held the barrel right up against the victim’s head, and then positioned the gun to make it _look_ like a suicide.”

“Or…” Bucky trails off, imagining a third option in his head, and really hoping it isn’t what happened to this guy. It’s almost too horrible to consider, but he has to consider everything. Falsworth looks over at him, curious.

“Or what, detective?”

Bucky takes a breath. “Or someone made him shoot himself.”

Falsworth frowns, eyes moving back to the victim as a sympathetic look softens his features. “Well, let’s hope it isn’t door number three.” He looks back to Bucky. “There _is_ something that makes us think this could be a homicide. Something that I think you should see.”

“What is it?”

“Bucky!”

He turns at hearing his name, spotting Steve as he walks over to them. He’s got his eyes on the victim, but they move to look at Bucky as he approaches him.

“Hey, you made it.” Bucky manages a little smile, even though he knows it isn’t authentic.

“I did,” Steve nods, looking over at Falsworth as his hands move to his waist. The action makes Bucky notice that Steve had remembered to put on a blazer before he left home. Show off.

“Is this your new partner, James?” Falsworth has his gaze turned to Steve, and Bucky can tell he's sizing him up. He’d probably learned by now about Clint being out of commission, and Falsworth has always been friendly with Clint, so Bucky doesn’t doubt that he’s making comparisons.

“Yeah. Falsworth, this is detective Steve Rogers. Steve, Monty Falsworth. He’s a CSI.” Bucky introduces them, watching as they shake hands in front of him. Steve nods at Falsworth as he shakes his hand, and Bucky notices a little smile develop on Falsworth’s face.

“Strong grip, detective. And I’ll have you know that I’m _the_ CSI. The only one who’s important, anyway.”

Steve smiles back at him, looking amused. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Well, now that that’s out of the way…” Bucky’s sure Steve could keep bonding with Falsworth until they’re the best of friends, but he’d just been about to learn some important information before he’d arrived. “Where’s the reason we’re here?”

Falsworth directs his gaze at Bucky, expression becoming professional again. “Right. Follow me.”

They trail behind him as he walks over to the body. He bends down toward the victim’s shirt and Bucky knows what’s coming even before Falsworth moves it out of the way.

Bucky doesn’t look away when he spots the red symbol carved into the victim’s flesh. His jaw clenches, and his hands form tight fists at his side, but he doesn’t look away. It isn’t the first time he’s seen this symbol carved into flesh. That had been during his first official case with Clint, when the symbol had been carved into the bodies of the victims before they were dumped into the water. Aside from that, it had been found on walls and in one of the cars involved in the crash during Morita and Clint’s first case. The blood on the wall in one incident had been disgusting enough, but when they’re carved into people like this…

It’s immediately apparent to Bucky that this marking had been carved into the victim before he’d died. The two marks found on the victims from the prior case had been neat, as if the person making them had all the time in the world. This time, dried blood is all around it and the lines are uneven, with some trailing off before coming back to the mark, as if the victim had struggled quite a bit and caused the person making the mark to slip up. Bucky can’t help the shudder that runs through him at the thought.

He’s suddenly reminded that this isn’t his first time seeing this, but it _is_ Steve’s, and so he looks over to gauge his reaction. To his surprise, Steve looks completely calm, but his eyes are narrowed as he looks at the victim’s chest. Bucky hasn’t seen him angry before, but as he takes in Steve’s expression he thinks that’s what he might peg him as.

“The mark was made not long before the victim died.” Falsworth stands back up.

“And we’re sure it was made before he died?” Bucky knows it’s what he’d been thinking, but he can hope that maybe they’re overlooking something. That this man hadn’t suffered as badly as it appears.

“Yes, unfortunately.” Falsworth actually sounds upset at this fact as he looks back down at the victim. “Must’ve put up quite a struggle though. I could barely tell what the mark was when I first saw it.”

Bucky stares at the mark again. It’s done poorly, which is strange. All the other marks he’s seen were carefully done, and it was clear what the symbol was supposed to represent. This time, the circle surrounding the skull and the tentacles is barely a circle at all. He wouldn’t even be able to tell what the tentacles are supposed to be if he didn’t already know, they’re so badly botched. The only real indicator that the mark is the same one they’ve been seeing is the indisputable red skull. It stares up at them from the middle of the victim’s chest, bloody and angry against the pale skin of his body.

Bucky looks away and lets out a breath, watching as it disappears into the cold night air.

“Is that the knife that carved the mark?” Steve’s voice disrupts the silence and Bucky comes back from his brief reprieve. He looks down at the ground, following Steve’s gaze, and spots a plastic yellow marker with a small knife sitting beside it a few feet from the victim.

“Yes. At least it should be. We’ll be testing the blood on it to see if it matches the victim’s, and we’ll also be testing the handle to see if we can find any DNA.”

Bucky doubts they will, but he does find it interesting that the knife had been left behind. He’d expected that whoever had carved the symbol into the victim wouldn’t have wanted to leave any traceable evidence. They’d found cans of spray paint at crime scenes in the past, but there wasn’t any DNA left behind. The victims that had supposedly painted the walls with the marks had always been wearing gloves, which wasn’t all that surprising considering their careers. The only other time the mark had been carved into victims, they hadn’t been able to find a knife. Bucky figured it had been tossed it into the water, but then why hadn’t this person done the same?

A thought hits him, and he looks over at the victim’s hands, relief flowing through him when he notices he’s not wearing gloves. Someone else had done it, then. He’s willing to bet whoever it was had been smart enough to wear gloves of their own. They most likely won’t find anything on the knife, and he doesn’t allow himself to hope.

“Do we know who he is?” Bucky wraps his hands around his biceps as a chilly breeze flows by.

“There was a wallet found, and an ID card fitting his appearance and description was inside,” Falsworth flips through his notes. “Quentin Greymore. There was an employee ID card as well. He worked at Stark Industries.”

“ _Stark?_ ” Bucky looks to Steve, who looks totally surprised to hear the billionaire’s name. He’s surprised too, honestly, but it’s more by the fact that they’d found a wallet. It’s a rarity at these crime scenes. In fact, he’s pretty sure the only other time they’d found a wallet was during the very first incident.

“Yes. There was also a debit card, two credit cards, a membership to a gym, two punch cards to different frozen yogurt establishments, and twenty-three dollars…” Falsworth flips to the next page. “…and thirty-six cents.”

Bucky raises a brow. “They all had his name on them?”

“With the exception of the cash and the punch cards, yes. It would appear this is really Quentin Greymore. Or was, I suppose.” Falsworth sighs, flipping his notebook closed. “I’ll contact you as soon as we finish identifying the blood and possible DNA left on the knife. You’re also welcome to the wallet, we’ve taken prints from it and we’ll let you know what we find.”

“Thanks, we’ll get it from evidence later.”

Falsworth straightens up. “Well then, it was nice meeting you Steve.” He nods at Bucky. “James.” He walks away toward an unmarked white van, and Bucky takes a moment to look around the crime scene. They’d gotten what they’d come for, and most of the evidence won’t be available until later in the day, but he can still see if anything stands out.

“So…we’re thinking homicide, right?” Steve asks, walking behind him as Bucky circles the body to stand at the other side.

“Yeah.” Bucky nods, and fills him in on what he’d missed. “One shot to the side of the head, near the temple. Close-range, and there’s bruise left from where the barrel was pressed against the skin.”

“A Ruger?” Steve’s already looking down at the gun.

Bucky sighs. “Yeah…” He rubs a hand over his face, feeling tense and tired and a little sick to his stomach. It’s so fucking _frustrating_ that they keep seeing the same things, keep observing the same connections, but then almost every time something is different. This incident happened only a few days after he and Clint had been investigating a different crime scene. Never have two incidents been this close together. They’ve always been spread out over the span of a few weeks, at least. Now though…what if now the incidents will start to occur more frequently? What if whoever they’re after is getting even cockier than they’d been before? What if more people start to die at a higher rate and they can’t do anything about it because they can’t catch a _goddamn_ break?

“Hey…” Bucky looks over at Steve, hand still covering half his face. Steve looks slightly worried, and Bucky wonders if he looks as stressed out as he feels. Steve isn’t looking at Bucky’s face though, eyes glancing over Bucky’s torso.

“Are you cold?”

Bucky’s taken aback for a moment, but then he looks down at himself. One arm is wrapped around his chest and his other one is bunched up against his side. He’s gotten colder the longer they’ve been out here, and he’s sure if he were to look at his arms they’d have goosebumps. They shouldn’t have to stay here much longer though. Once he gets back in his car, he can crank the heat and he’ll be fine.

“Uh…a little. But it’s fine, I’m-“

Steve’s already taking off his blazer and Bucky’s wondering if this guy’s been teleported here out of the middle ages, because he’s seriously just become the epitome of chivalry. Bucky isn’t some damsel though. He shakes his head.

“It’s fine, I don’t need it.”

Steve still holds it out to him, a little smile on his face. “It’s okay, I’m not gonna get cold. I run pretty hot, so I don’t need it.”

Bucky stares at him in disbelief. Steve’s smile begins to falter a little when Bucky doesn’t take the jacket, so Bucky decides to humor him. He takes it with a murmured “Thanks” and slips it on. It’s a little big, but it’s warm, and Bucky now believes what Steve had said about running hot because he feels like he’s just slipped into a blanket fresh out of the dryer. Steve’s warmth still clings to the inside, and it warms him up pretty quickly. He’s inwardly glad that he’d caved and taken it.

“Sure.” Steve smiles at him again with a nod, and Bucky thinks that this all could be kind of like something from a romance movie if it weren’t for the dead body next to them. “So, we have a Ruger, and the symbol. Same as the other cases.” Steve gets back to the case, and Bucky puts his mind back on-track.

“Yeah, but something’s off about this symbol,” he replies, crossing his arms once again. He isn’t cold anymore, but he still feels like shivering when he sees the bloody mark on Quentin Greymore’s body.

“I noticed. It looks…”

“Sloppy?” Steve winces a little at Bucky’s description, but he nods.

“Yeah. It’s not as precise as the other symbols we’ve seen.”

“Well it’s probably because Greymore struggled a lot. That’s the only reason I can think of. If he’d been dead already then the person who killed him would’ve had plenty of time to make the mark.”

“I agree. I just don’t get why. Why did he have to do the mark _before_ Greymore died? It probably would’ve been easier to just wait until after he was killed.”

Bucky shrugs, then sighs. “Dunno…to draw it out? To make him suffer? Maybe Greymore royally pissed someone off. Someone with a sadistic side.”

“Guess we’ll find out,” Steve replies, and Bucky both dreads and looks forward to finding the person who’d done this. He looks up from the body, and suddenly gets a weird feeling. At first he has trouble placing it, but then he realizes he’s had it before plenty of times. He feels like he’s being watched.

He scans the area, and his eyes catch the reflection of light against a pair of glasses on the other side of the yellow tape. He stops, and his breath suddenly catches in his throat. A pair of eyes hold his own, and the man staring back at him makes no effort to avert them. They bore back into Bucky, like they’re studying him intently, and he suddenly feels like he should hide, or run, or do _something_ to get away from them. The man looking at him looks as if he knows exactly what Bucky’s thinking and feeling. Like he knows everything about him.

Another chill runs through him, and he can’t help it when he shivers.

“Who’s that?” Bucky doesn’t look over to Steve when he speaks, and he continues to hold the man’s gaze as he answers.

“I don’t know,” he says softly, and he’s suddenly confused because he really doesn’t know this man, but Bucky feels like _he_ knows _him_. It’s weird, and eerie, and Bucky doesn’t like it at all. But he has to know who he is. Maybe then he’ll feel less…disturbed.

He moves toward the nearest CSI, leaving it to Steve to decide whether to follow him or not.

“Hey.” The guy looks up at Bucky from where he’s writing something down. “The guy in the glasses near the yellow tape over there,” he motions toward the man with his head, “who is he?”

The guy looks over to where Bucky had gestured, confused until he spots the man and his eyes widen in recognition. “Oh, that’s Dr. Arnim Zola.” He looks back to Bucky. “He’s…a psychological specialist? I don’t really know what he does. But he’s helped us with suicide cases before. He’s helped police in other cities too. He came here from LA, I think. Or maybe it was Chicago…”

“Thanks,” Bucky replies, sparing the guy a glance as he walks over to where Arnim Zola is standing. He’s still looking at him. What the fuck?

He can feel his heart beating faster as he approaches, and he hopes Steve is behind him because he suddenly doesn’t want to talk to this man alone. When he gets to Zola, the man is looking at him curiously, a little smile on his face. Bucky stops in front of him and goes to say something, but he’d made the mistake of not thinking of anything to say on his way over, so he ends up standing there for a few seconds, his mouth barely open as he stares. Zola’s smile grows wider.

“Yes detective, can I help you?” Bucky’s taken aback by his accent, and he takes another few seconds to try and place it. German? Swiss maybe?

A shadow moves over Zola’s face, and Bucky looks over his shoulder to find Steve right behind him.

“Detective Rogers.” Steve extends his hand toward Zola, and Bucky blinks, looking down at it. He hadn’t expected Steve to follow him, let alone be right behind him. Zola shakes his hand, and Bucky looks back up at him to find that his once-confident smile has taken on a shade of discomfort. “This is my partner, Detective Barnes.”

“Nice to meet you, detective.” Zola only lets his gaze linger on Steve for a short moment before it moves right back to Bucky. Bucky, for his part, actually feels a little calmer. He attributes it to the fact that Zola’s face is now cast in Steve’s shadow, and it’s a constant reminder that someone is there with him. He still doesn’t know what it is about Zola that unnerves him, but the fact that Steve doesn’t seem to be bothered by him makes him feel a little better.

“We appreciate the assistance, Dr. Zola, but at this point we’re not sure this is a suicide. We’re looking into all possibilities.” Bucky knows that isn’t entirely true, that they’re almost sure this is a homicide, but he recognizes that Steve is keeping the details of their investigation private. He appreciates his caution. They don’t know Zola, and even if they did, Bucky feels like he’s the last person he’d talk to about what they’re thinking.

Zola looks back over at Steve, his expression polite, though Bucky gets the feeling that it’s not authentic.

“I understand, detective, but I was invited here by your department. By Fury himself, actually. And I will continue to work on this case until I can determine the level of stability of Mr. Greymore’s mental state, at which point I will submit a report and then be on my way. I do hope that we can remain on friendly terms until then.”

Steve’s smile is about as authentic as Zola’s when he replies. “Of course, doctor. Good luck on your investigation.”

“You as well, detective.” Zola turns his not-quite-polite gaze back to Bucky, and he can’t miss the way his expression turns into something more…menacing. “And I do hope we meet again soon.” Bucky is almost certain he’s talking exclusively to him, but he tries not to focus on that as Zola walks away and leaves him feeling sick to his stomach.

By the time Zola gets to his car, he’s calmed down a little bit, and he only flinches a little when he feels a hand on his shoulder. He doesn’t need to look to know it’s Steve’s.

“Hey, you okay?” Bucky nods before looking over at him. He looks concerned, and Bucky has to admit that even _he’s_ a little concerned with himself after what had just happened.

“Yeah, just…did he seem weird to you?”

Steve nods, and Bucky feels relief flood through him. So he isn’t the only one. “He was strange. I felt like he kept looking at you. You’re sure you don’t know him from somewhere?”

Bucky just shakes his head, gaze lowering. He hears Steve sigh, and then his hand is tightening on his shoulder.

“Well, let’s get back and start investigating Greymore. And while we’re at it, we can look into Zola.”

Bucky looks back up, feeling like a weight is lifting from his shoulders at the thought of getting out of there. “Okay.”

* * *

 

“No criminal ties, no gang affiliations, no connections to the mob. Why the hell was this guy targeted?” Bucky runs a hand through his hair, totally frustrated. He sits up in his seat, back aching a little as he finally straightens up from being hunched over his desk for hours on end as they poured over evidence and looked into Quentin Greymore’s personal background. It’s been five hours, and they haven’t found anything special. Quentin Greymore was a midlevel communications manager at Stark Industries. He was a husband and father of two, and lived in the Upper West Side with his family. There are no red flags or apparent motives for homicide, or suicide from what they can tell. He appeared to be happy, healthy, and leading a nice, average life. The only thing they found in his criminal background check were two parking tickets, both paid.

They’ve also been so invested in finding something on Greymore that they haven’t gotten the chance to look into Zola, another thing that adds to Bucky’s frustration.

“The victims from the last incident were both gang members?” Steve looks up at him for clarification, and Bucky nods.

“Yeah, they were both from rival gangs. That doesn’t mean anything, though.” At least not anymore it doesn’t. In the past it would’ve been a straight-forward case. One gang member shoots another, gets injured during the ensuing shoot-out, and they both end up dead. But when he and Clint were at the scene, he’d seen the bright red mark on the brick wall next to the bodies, clear as day. Every time he sees that symbol it seems more and more like the red skull is staring at him. Taunting him. Bucky wishes he could punch it in the face.

“I know…I’m just trying to understand it. If there’s a connection. Why kill gang members and members of the mafia, and then turn around and murder someone who’s innocent?” Steve crosses his arms, looking down at the files on Bucky’s desk as he voices his thoughts. He still isn’t wearing his blazer due to the fact that Bucky had draped it across the back of his chair when they got here, so now he’s left in his white button-down. Bucky hadn’t been expecting Steve to be this buff underneath his blazer. He’d always looked bigger, but he couldn’t tell how muscular he’d be. He finds himself a little distracted by the image, and he wonders how often Steve works out as he stares at his arms. Five times a week? Six? Every day maybe?

“I know there was an innocent citizen involved in the first incident when this case started,” Steve continues, and Bucky forces his eyes upwards before he’s caught looking. “But what if they _were_ involved? What if they were targeted?”

Bucky considers this. In the first incident of their case, Morita and Clint had been investigating a crash between two vehicles. When they found the symbol with the red skull, it had been on a token in the vehicle with a victim who turned out to be the member of a gang. The other casualty had been a citizen in the other car involved in the crash, but there hadn’t been any sign of the symbol in their vehicle. Initially, it was thought that the gang member was trying to kill the citizen, but since then they’ve been looking at each incident as a set-up. Bucky had thought the gang member was the only one being targeted, and that the citizen was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Now though, if they were both being targeted, then the incident they looked at today wouldn’t be the first time a citizen had been directly involved.

“Then that means he was involved with whoever is doing all of this. Or he did something to make them angry.” The notion makes Bucky feel better and worse all at the same time. If whoever is killing people and leaving the mark is targeting specific people, then at least innocent citizens aren’t being killed. On the other hand, it’s difficult to know _what_ , exactly, had made them angry. Whatever it is though, Bucky’s pretty sure he’d gone and done it, if what happened with Clint is any indication. Morita and Clint too, must have done something…unless they’re all only being targeted because they’re cops. It’s possible whoever this is just doesn’t like people snooping around.

“I think it’s possible,” Steve replies, running a hand over his chin. He’s so blond, Bucky wonders if it shows when he starts to get five o’clock shadow, or if his hair is too light to tell. Bucky has to be on himself every morning with his shaving, his hair is so dark and thick. He’ll probably have the beginnings of some stubble pretty soon, if he doesn’t already. “But that means we’ll have to find out what he did. We should look into his files and browsing history on all of his devices, both personal and at work. Whatever he did, it’s probably not crime-related, or at least it won’t be obvious if it is.”

“Sounds good to me.” Bucky stands up and stretches, hearing his back pop as he does so. “Jeez, how long’ve we been sitting?”

Before Steve can reply one of the guys from their department walks over to them and claps a hand on Steve’s back.

“Hey Rogers! Congrats on solving that first case.” Steve looks up, getting over his mild surprise at being snuck up on impressively fast. A hesitant smile appears on his face as he replies.

“Uh, thanks. I appreciate it.” He looks taken aback by the compliment, even though this is his third one today. Since they’ve been here, only a few people have come in to work. Almost all the early birds have stopped to congratulate Steve though, and the ones that didn’t still smiled at both of them and offered their “good morning”s. Steve still got that surprised look on his face when that happened, too.

Once he walks off and they’re alone again, Steve looks at Bucky, smile a little wider.

“I’m almost as popular as you now.”

Bucky can’t help but laugh at that. He definitely doesn’t consider himself to be _popular_. More like well-known. After solving that first case that got him promoted into the homicide division, he was welcomed with open arms. A lot of people were impressed with him, and he’s always been a friendly guy. It wasn’t hard to get to know people, and for people to get to know him, at least on the surface level. He doesn’t really consider his coworkers to be his friends, aside from Clint. They’re more like people he knows and gets along with.

He can understand Steve’s excitement though. Steve hadn’t had as easy of a time being welcomed into his new job, and Bucky’s glad that he no longer seems to be getting the cold shoulder. He would’ve had to have a few words with some people if they kept treating Steve they way they did. He’s a good guy, and he definitely didn’t deserve it.

“You better slow down there,” he jokes, easy grin on his face. “Soon they’ll be asking you to perform at the benefit ball.”

Steve looks confused for a second, before recognition moves over his features. “Oh yeah. That’s in December right? Around Christmas? I might not be able to go that…”

“Well, it’s bi-annual. I was actually talking about the one coming up Saturday.”

Steve’s eyes widen. “Saturday? _This_ Saturday?”

“Uh…yeah…?” Bucky isn’t sure what rock Steve’s been living under. Coulson doesn’t let anyone on their floor forget about the ball. He even sometimes guilt-trips people who say they can’t go. _“It’s for charity, and it’s good for the department,”_ he’ll say, and he always has this look on his face that’s just the right mix of earnest and disappointed. It usually gets people to cancel whatever plans they had and assure him they’re going pretty quick. Coulson seems like the nicest guy most of the time, but during those times Bucky swears he gets some weird form of satisfaction from it.

“Do I have to go to that?” Steve looks genuinely worried, and Bucky starts to feel some sympathy for him. The poor guy just got promoted, after all. Most officers only attend the Christmas benefit ball, but people on their level and the higher-ups typically go to both. People might think it’s weird if he isn’t there, and it wouldn’t do anything for his reputation. Usually Bucky wouldn’t care about that, but Steve had been having a tough time until recently, and it’d end up being a set-back for him if he can’t go.

“You don’t _have_ to, but it won’t look good if you don’t.” Bucky sounds genuinely sorry as he replies, and he hopes Steve didn’t have any big plans for Saturday, because if he can’t convince him to go, then Coulson will undoubtedly find out and guilt him into it. Unfortunately for Steve, he seems like the type to be easily guilt-tripped.

Steve sighs, looking a little defeated. “Okay. Guess I’ll have to find something to wear then.”

“You mean you don’t have anything?”

“Not really. It’s alright though, I have a friend who’s been trying to get me to buy a new suit for a while now.” Steve gets a little smile as he says this, and Bucky wonders exactly how long it’s been since Steve bought one if his friend is that excited.

“Rogers!” They both look up. Rumlow is walking toward them, and Bucky can’t help his eye-roll. It’s practically a natural reaction to seeing the other man now. “Heard you got put onto this mess-of-a-case after cracking your last one. Good job on that, by the way.”

“Thanks. Yeah, this one’s…it’s tough.” Steve is looking at Rumlow with a friendly expression. Bucky can’t help but think that expression would be different if he really got to know him.

“’S what I’ve heard. But, no worries, I’m sure Bucky boy here’ll be real helpful.” Rumlow has this disgustingly innocent smile on his face as he looks at Bucky, but he knows by now that it’s an act and that Rumlow is trying to get under his skin.

“How ya doin’ Barnes? Read any good books lately?”

Bucky’s jaw twitches as he clenches it. His eyes narrow at Rumlow, as if he concentrates hard enough he’ll be able to burn a hole right though his smug fucking face.

Steve, for his part, looks totally confused as he looks between them, but there’s no way he’s missing what’s happening right now. Bucky knows how he gets around Rumlow, Clint tells him often enough. One look at him and Bucky’s mood does a complete one-eighty.

“What are you doing here Rumlow?” He doesn’t even _work_ on this level, so did he just come down to piss him off?

“I’m on a special assignment for Hill. I came down to talk to your boss.”

Special assignment his ass. Hill probably has him running down to see if Coulson has any extra paperclips.

“He’s in his office,” Bucky manages, his tone no less resentful. Rumlow smiles wider.

 “Wow, thanks Barnes. It’s no wonder you’re a detective.” Bucky’s jaw tightens again at the jab as Rumlow starts walking away. But of course, he isn’t finished yet. “Hey, say hi to Thompson for me, will ya?”

“Fuck off, Rumlow.” Bucky can’t see his face as he walks toward Coulson’s office, but he’s positive that Rumlow has that smug little smile on his face that Bucky always just wants to rip off and shove up his ass.

He lets out a frustrated breath and turns back to Steve, who’s looking at him in both confusion and astonishment.

“Wow, that was…uh…” He looks like he doesn’t quite know what to say, and Bucky would probably tease him for it if he wasn’t trying to get over the little wave of embarrassment he’s feeling at lashing out at Rumlow in front of him. Steve’s only stuck for a moment before he speaks up again. “So…you and Thompson…are you two…”

Bucky knows what’s on the tip of Steve’s tongue, but that’s the _last_ thing he wants to talk about right now. He shakes his head and sighs, placing his hands on his desk.

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” He doesn’t want to talk about _any_ part of what just happened, and hopes Steve gets the message and knows that’s what he means.

“Right, yeah, okay.” Steve doesn’t try to question any further, and Bucky’s thankful for that. Right now he’s already on edge from their case and being up deprived of sleep. He really doesn’t want to talk about his beef with Rumlow or Thompson’s jack-assery.

“Can I ask you another question though?”

Steve looks at him with nothing but curiosity, so Bucky decides that his question is probably innocent enough. He nods.

“Yeah, what?”

“If your name is James, where does ‘Bucky’ come from?”

Bucky seriously wonders for a moment when Steve had learned his first name, because he’s sure he never told him. Then he remembers Falsworth and he wants to laugh, because Steve has probably been wanting to ask him that question since they left the crime scene six hours ago.

“It’s from my middle name, Buchanan.” He can’t help his little smile as he answers. “I didn’t like my name growing up, and my dad started callin’ me that as a joke. It’s just what I went by after that.”

“Oh. Buchanan, huh? I’ve never met anyone with that name. It’s different, I like it.”

Bucky huffs a laugh. “Thanks. What about you?”

Steve looks confused again. “Huh? What about me?”

“Your middle name, what is it?”

“Oh! Grant.”

Bucky hums, going over Steve’s full name in his head. “Not bad.”

Steve laughs at that, and his tone has a hint of sarcasm when he answers. “Thanks.”

Bucky grins back at him. “No problem. I’m gonna get some coffee, do you want anything?” Steve looks over toward the coffee maker in the office.

“I can get my own…”

Bucky shakes his head. “No, I’m goin’ out. Gonna get some fresh air, and something stronger than this watered-down crap.”

“Oh. No, I’m good, thanks.” Bucky rolls his eyes, because really, how can he be okay with the gross shit they have there in the office?

“I’ll get you a latte,” he replies, walking off toward the elevator. He kind of expects Steve to try and argue, but when he hears his reply he ends up surprised.

“Okay. Can I get extra foam?”

Bucky turns to look back at him, an amused smile on his face. “Sure.”

* * *

 

Bucky walks away from the barista at Starbucks with a grande latte with extra foam in his right hand and four shots of espresso in his left. He’s already feeling more awake just at the knowledge that he has decent coffee to drink now.

He holds the door open for a woman entering with a stroller and she smiles at him in thanks. As he turns to leave he spots a guy in a hoodie sitting at a table in the corner, looking at him. He quickly looks down at his phone when Bucky sees him, and Bucky waits an extra second to see if he’ll look back up before walking out of the building.

He knows that he could just be paranoid, but at this point he isn’t sure he can be paranoid _enough_. He’s trusted his instincts before for a lot of things, but now people are actually trying to put him out of commission, and he can’t let his guard down now. It’s too important for him to solve this case.

He’s glad for his instincts a moment later, when he looks in a mirror ahead of him in a clothes store and spots the guy in the hoodie following behind him. He’s a fair distance back, maybe five meters or so, hidden in a small group of people walking behind Bucky. He’s walking with his head down, hands in his pockets, and Bucky goes over potential weapons he could have hidden as he continues walking.

He doesn’t speed up, or give any indication that he knows the guy is there. He could probably make it back to the department without any issues. He really isn’t sure how this guy planned on getting to him on a Monday during morning rush hour in the middle of New York City, but he also thinks that maybe he isn’t there to take him out. He could just be stalking Bucky, trying to see if he has any patterns during his day. Bucky mentally kicks himself, because this guy’s probably been following him since he left work.

So, he’s either planning on trying to hurt Bucky, or get information off of him.

Bucky makes a decision then, because they’re desperate and at an impasse in this case and maybe this guy can give him some answers.

He speeds up a little at the next crosswalk, the red hand on the little screen bright as the timer next to him lets him know he only has four seconds to cross. He walks quickly across it, eventually having to jog the last part when he runs out of time. He can’t check to see if the guy tried to follow him across, but he doesn’t hear any horns blaring, so he hopes he’s bought himself some time.

Walking normally again, he heads down the sidewalk a little ways before ducking right into an alley. He walks down the alley to a garbage can and sets the coffees on the ground on side of it further away from the entrance of the alley, making sure to set them back toward the wall just a little bit. Then he turns and goes to the dumpster sitting against the other wall, crouching down against the side of it so he’s hidden from view.

He doesn’t have to wait long before he hears footsteps echo in the alleyway. They’re slow, and even though they get progressively closer Bucky wonders if the guy will give up, think he’s lost Bucky, and head back out. Then he sees the familiar hoodie as the guy finally comes into view. He takes another step before spotting the coffees next to the garbage and Bucky takes his chance while he’s distracted.

He pulls his gun as he rushes the guy, pushing him against the wall with his hand against his neck as the barrel of his gun presses tight against his temple. He stares hard into the guy’s eyes, feeling adrenaline rush through him and fueling both his anger and his fear.

He makes sure only the former is apparent as he speaks.

“Who the fuck are you?”

The guys looks like he’s about to piss himself and he struggles to answer for a moment. Bucky presses the barrel of his gun harder against his pulse.

“Shit, _shit_ man I’m sorry okay!?”

“Who. The fuck. Are you.” Bucky’s jaw is clenched as he asks, his words coming out almost at a growl.

“I’m- I’m nobody man, shit, I’m sorry! I just- I’m just here ‘cause they told me to watch you!”

“Who’s they?”

The man opens his mouth to answer, but apparently he’s more afraid of “they” than Bucky, because he seems to think better of it and closes it again. Bucky will just have to change his mind.

He tightens his grip on the guy’s neck and steps almost flush against him, any personal space he might have had entirely compromised.

“Tell me who they are. _Now_.”

The guy’s eyes widen even more. Bucky can feel his pulse race wildy against his hand where he grips his neck.

“The gang I’m with! The- the people I work for. They told me to watch you and tell them where you are.” He struggles to take a breath, and Bucky relaxes his grip slightly.

“ _Why?_ ”

“’Cause someone’s on their asses! They’re scared shitless, we all are. They keep threatenin’ everybody and when people don’t listen they take people out. Not just us either, every gang in the city’s losin’ people.”

This guy looks like he’s seriously uncomfortable telling Bucky all of this. It could just be because of the gun Bucky’s holding against his head, but if what he’s saying is true, then he’s probably in serious trouble if anyone finds out he talked.

“Who? Who’s threatening you?”

“I don’t know man, I don’t- Some cult or somethin’. All I know is they got everyone scared, and they have this crazy symbol they put everywhere-“

“Does it have a red skull and tentacles?”

The guy nods, swallowing harshly against Bucky’s grip.

“Y-yeah, that’s it. I don’t know nothin’ else about them, I swear. I’m just a little guy, man, I don’t know nothin’.”

“You know enough.” Bucky glares at him as he moves his hand away, keeping the gun pressed against his head. He pats him down for weapons, finding a gun hidden under his pants and a pocket knife in his back pocket. He tosses them both to the side and gives the guy a look.

“I wasn’t gonna do nothin’ with them, I swear. I was just s’posed to watch you.”

“Why?”

The guy is visibly shaking at this point when he answers. “I don’t know, I swear.”

“’Cause you’re just a little guy right?”

He nods furiously. “Yeah, yeah. I’m nobody, they don’t tell me anything, I just hear what I hear and don’t ask questions. I…I got a family you know, kids, I-“

“I should take you in.” Bucky’s voice reflects how much he’s seriously considering this option as he narrows his eyes at the man. The guy doesn’t say anything, just stares at him with wide eyes. “But you gave me what I needed.”

The guy’s expression becomes totally confused when Bucky says this, and he doesn’t even notice when Bucky reaches back in his pocket and takes out his wallet.

“I’m takin’ this though.” He holds it up for the guy to see.

“My wallet?” He looks immediately nervous. “It’s a fake ID,” he confesses, and he hesitates a little before continuing. “I can give you my name if you-“

Bucky shakes his head. “No, I just need the cash.”

The guy looks confused again, so Bucky nods down toward the ground, where his and Steve’s coffees lay spilled everywhere.

“You spilled my coffee.”

The guy looks slowly back up at him, mouth agape. He closes it and nods, eyes still wide.

“Alright then,” Bucky says, straightening up and backing off the guy. He holsters his gun, but makes sure to stand in front of the guy’s weapons, so he knows his only option is to leave the alley from the way he’d entered. “You listen to me. Get out of this life. If you got a family, you get a real job and stop working for the people you work for.” The guy nods at him, and Bucky hopes he’s taking his words to heart, but a part of him is still cynical. He can only try.

Bucky nods his head toward the street. “Scram.”

The guy does as he’s told, booking it out of the alley like a madman and almost running into some people as he exits. They look into the alley to see where he’d come from, but Bucky doesn’t bother to watch for their reactions, instead pocketing the wallet and the guy’s knife. He makes sure the safety’s on before slipping the gun into his belt behind him.

He’ll be late getting back to work now that he has to go get more coffee. He checks the wallet as he walks out of the alley. At least he made forty bucks.

* * *

 

Bucky’s back at the department an hour and ten minutes after he’d originally left. When he’d gone back to get more coffee, there’d been a bigger line than before, so it had taken him twenty minutes instead of the seven it had taken him the first time.

The elevator doors open and Steve immediately looks up from where he’s sitting at Bucky’s desk. When he spots Bucky he stands, his expression confused and a little concerned.

“Hey, I tried to call you while you were out. You were gone for over an hour.”

Bucky hands him his coffee before rummaging around for his cell, locating it in his right pants pocket. He ignores the knife there and takes out his phone to check it. Sure enough, there’s one missed call from Steve. Bucky hadn’t even noticed he’d tried to call.

“Sorry, it was loud in the coffee place.” He doesn’t sound too apologetic as slips his phone back in his pocket, but he can’t really help it. His mind’s on other things at the moment. “I gotta talk to Coulson, I’ll be right back.” He leaves Steve staring after him in confusion as he walks to Coulson’s office.

The door’s ajar when he approaches, but he still raps at the door a couple of times as he enters. Coulson looks up from his conversation with Morita and gives him a friendly smile, one that Bucky can’t quite bring himself to return.

“Bucky, what can I do for you?”

Bucky looks between Coulson and Morita before replying. “Can I talk to you? Alone?”

Morita watches him, all casual and laid back standing there with his hands in his pockets. Bucky knows better though. He’s almost definitely analyzing Bucky, probably trying to figure out what he wants to discuss with Coulson before Bucky even says anything.

“Is this about your case?” Coulson asks, and Bucky looks back at him, nodding. “Well then would it be alright if Morita stayed? He had your case in the past you know. He might be able to provide some insight.”

Bucky only considers this for a second before he replies. “With all due respect…I kind of wanted this to be a one-on-one conversation.” He watches as Coulson seems to realize the implications of Bucky’s words and takes in the fact that Steve isn’t with him. Before he can reply, Morita speaks up.

“Hey, it’s alright, I get it. I’ll get out of your guys’ way.”

Bucky moves so he can leave the office, and he closes the door behind him before walking to stand near Coulson’s desk. Coulson looks up at him like he isn’t sure whether he should be offended that Bucky had kicked out his guest or worried over their approaching conversation.

Before he can say anything, Bucky reaches into his pocket and sets the knife down on his desk. Coulson stares at it, dumbfounded. Bucky takes his momentary silence to reach behind him and take out the gun, placing it next to the knife.

Coulson brings a hand up to his chin as he rests his elbow on his desk and looks between the knife, the gun, and Bucky, with an appraising expression.

“They’re not mine,” Bucky finally says after a full minute of nothing but silence and Coulson’s gaze moving between him and the weapons.

“I gathered that,” he replies, sitting up a bit as he looks up at Bucky. “So who’s are they?”

Bucky goes to reply, but then realizes that he’d never gotten the guy’s name. He closes his mouth again and holds up a finger as he reaches into his back pocket to get out the guy’s wallet. He places it in front of Coulson, who looks at him in confusion for a second before opening it. He slips out the ID card and reads over it.

“…Mike Rotch?”

“It’s fake.”

Coulson puts the wallet down and looks to Bucky for explanation.

“I saw a man in Starbucks as I was leaving, I thought he was watching me, but I wasn’t sure. Then I saw him following me. I ducked into an alley and when he followed I interrogated him.”

“What did he tell you?” Coulson seems to know that Bucky’s leaving out details, but he doesn’t ask questions, something Bucky is grateful for.

“That he worked for a gang. That he was told to watch me and report my position back to his bosses. That his bosses were being threatened and intimidated into keeping an eye on me.”

“By who?”

Bucky shakes his head a little. “He didn’t know. He just said there were…people. And that they’re scaring a lot of gangs in the city. They’re the same people who’re killing and leaving the symbol.”

“How did you find that out?”

“He recognized the mark. He just couldn’t tell me anything about the people behind it.”

Coulson sighs, sitting back in his chair. “Alright, well…is he downstairs being processed?”

Bucky bites his lip.

“Bucky?” Coulson watches him carefully, and Bucky braces himself as he answers.

“I let him go.”

Coulson keeps staring at him, as if Bucky hadn’t just spoken. Maybe he really hadn’t heard him? Bucky goes to speak again, but Coulson just holds up a hand.

“I heard you. I’m just…trying to process what you just said.”

Bucky waits for a good ten seconds until Coulson speaks again.

“So. You confiscated this man’s weapons, and his wallet, and you interrogated him. But you didn’t bring him in?” Coulson still looks totally bewildered, and Bucky’s beginning to think that maybe letting the guy go hadn’t been the best idea.

“Yeah. He gave me what I asked for. And he wasn’t a threat.”

Coulson looks at the gun sitting between them on the desk before his gaze meets Bucky’s again. “Bucky, he was _armed_.”

“And I _dis_ armed him. His plan wasn’t to attack me, he was just a little guy.”

“…A little guy,” Coulson repeats, his tone disbelieving. Bucky nods.

“Yeah. His job wasn’t to hurt me. He was there to be their eyes and ears.”

Coulson takes a deep breath, looking down at the desk. He seems to think for a moment, considering his words, and then he’s looking back at Bucky with a very stern expression. “Bucky, this is a serious situation. Clint is in the hospital because someone tried to take his life. Now yours is in danger, and you let the man who could have been responsible for putting it there _go_?” Bucky goes to speak but Coulson doesn’t let him. “I know you don’t think he would have been directly responsible, but he was still a part of it. He was going to assist people in locating you. He was _stalking_ you for them, Bucky. This is serious.” Bucky looks down at the desk, not really knowing what to say. Coulson sighs. “We don’t even know that you got all of the information he had out of him. I don’t know what “interrogation” tactics you used, but they better have been effective.”

“They were. I don’t think he withheld anything he knew.”

“Well we can’t know that for sure now, because he isn’t here.”

Bucky nods. Coulson has a point, and Bucky is beginning to realize his error in sympathizing with the guy. He shouldn’t have let him go. “You’re right. I’m sorry. At the time I didn’t see the point in bringing him in, but now I see that it might have been helpful.”

Coulson sighs a little, seeming to calm down himself. “It’s alright. You made your judgement in-the-moment and it’s what seemed like the best option to you. I understand. Just please know that we can’t keep you safe if you don’t look out for yourself.” Coulson’s gaze turns almost pleading then, and Bucky has to look away.

“Okay.”

* * *

 

Bucky leaves Coulson’s office feeling even more tired than when he’d entered. The day’s events are catching up to him, and it isn’t even noon.

He looks up then, and only catches Morita’s apologetic gaze for a second before Steve’s blocking him from view.

“What did you see Coulson about?” He looks a little pissed-off, his entire body tense, even though he keeps his voice lowered so their coworkers don’t hear them.

“Nothing important,” Bucky replies, crossing his arms and staring back at him.

Steve doesn’t believe him for a second, not that Bucky had really been expecting him to.

“Really? Because that’s not what Morita said.” His gaze hardens as he continues. “Bucky, what did you talk to Coulson about?”

“Depends. What did Morita say?”

Steve’s brow twitches. Bucky thinks back to when he’d thought he was angry at the crime scene. That had been nothing compared to the way Steve is looking at him now.

“He said you wanted to talk to Coulson about the case. _Our_ case.”

Bucky shrugs a little, knowing that his nonchalant attitude is probably just irritating Steve even more. “Then he was right.”

Steve looks away for a second, apparently too frustrated to keep his gaze on Bucky for long. He glances behind them, and Bucky can see a couple of their coworkers turn away quickly when they look. Steve turns back to him.

“Can we talk somewhere else?”

Bucky doesn’t reply, just looks over to the little nook where the coffee machine and fridge are located to make sure no one’s there before walking over. Steve follows behind him, and Bucky turns around when he’s sure they’re both away from questioning stares and curious ears. Steve wastes no time in continuing their conversation.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were talking to Coulson?”

Bucky wants to sigh. He wants to roll his eyes. He wants to say he’s done talking. But he knows that it’s just born out of his exhaustion, and it wouldn’t get him anywhere with Steve, so he quells the urge.

“Because it was a private matter.”

Steve gives him a hard look. “Not if it’s about the case it isn’t.”

Bucky does give a little sigh then, because he’d really wanted to forget about all this and just move on. He can’t really do that with Steve being so insistent.

“Bucky, you were gone for over an hour. You didn’t answer when I called…” Steve’s expression shifts from barely-concealed rage to something with more concern. “Did something happen?”

Bucky knows he has to tell Steve. He can tell that there’s no way he’ll let this go.

“Yeah,” he admits, arms crossing over his chest again. “But it wasn’t a big deal. Nothing happened.” Because really, nothing _did_ happen. Some guy followed him, Bucky talked to him, the guy left. He can move on with his life now. He wants to.

Steve’s silent for a moment as he simply looks at Bucky, expression serious.

“What happened?” His voice is soft as he asks, and Bucky only hesitates a few seconds before telling him. He recounts how he’d seen the guy following him, how he’d lost him for a little bit and hid in the alley. How he’d rushed him and gotten information out of him before letting him run off. Steve’s expression changes multiple times throughout the story, but mostly it flickers between concern and anger. Bucky just can’t tell if he’s angry at the guy, at Bucky, or the fact that Bucky hadn’t been planning on telling him.

Steve looks away for a second when Bucky finishes, collecting his thoughts. When he looks back at him, Steve appears to be much calmer.

“If something like this happens again, I’d appreciate it if you told me.”

Bucky watches him carefully before replying. “Alright. I think I can do that.”

“Thank you.” Steve leaves it at that, and Bucky is honestly surprised. He’d expected him to pull a Coulson and talk about how important it is that Bucky look out for himself. How dumb it had been to let the guy go. But then Steve suggests that they work on the case some more and Bucky realizes that he’s not going to try and lecture him about anything. He’s really going to take Bucky’s word for it when he says he’ll tell him if something happens again.

Bucky doesn’t know why Steve seems to trust him so much. Bucky doesn’t even know if he’d been telling the truth when he told Steve he’d tell him if something happens again. In any case, letting him down isn’t really something Bucky wants to do. He can’t really pinpoint _why_ , but he thinks that it might be because he’s starting to see Steve as more than a partner. He’s becoming more like a friend to him, and Bucky can’t help but think maybe Steve’s starting to see him that way too. It’s a nice thought, because he knows that Steve’s a genuinely good guy, and if he’s honest with himself, he’d like to have him as a friend. He just hopes he doesn’t do something to mess it up.

* * *

 

They work on the case for a few more hours before exhaustion catches up with them both. Bucky doesn’t like the thought of quitting at such a weird time, because he knows he’ll just go home and crash, and then he’ll have to work to adjust his sleep schedule. But he’ll be of no use if he pushes himself to stay here, so he agrees with Steve when he suggests they call it a day.

He _doesn’t_ agree with Steve when he suggests that Bucky should text him when he gets home.

“Really?” He scoffs, a disbelieving smile on his face, because Steve _must_ be joking. He doubts anything is going to happen on his way home, especially after what had happened today. No one’s watching him now, he’d made sure of that.

Steve just nods. “Yeah Buck. I just think we should play it safe.”

Bucky barely blinks at his new nickname. No one’s ever tried calling him “Buck” before Steve, but it doesn’t sound bad, so he decides to be fine with it. “Steve, I’ll be fine okay? I can take care of myself.”

“I know you can. It’s just that a lot’s been going on lately, and don’t try telling me what happened today was nothing, because that’s not true.” Bucky opens his mouth to argue, but Steve beats him to it. “Everyone who’s worked on this case has been targeted, and now it’s you and me. I know you don’t like it, but we have to look out for each other.”

Bucky’s silent for a moment as he considers Steve’s words. He nods, letting out a breath. “Okay. Okay, I’ll text you. But you have to text me, too.” If he has to let Steve know his location, then it’s only fair Steve does the same.

Steve smiles a little at the request. “Sure.”

It doesn’t take him too long to get home. It probably would’ve been easier to go straight to Clint’s place, but the thought of sleeping in his own bed right now is too much to resist. Plus it’ll be nice to see his cat. He wonders if she misses him, too. Probably not too much, considering Natasha’s been taking care of her. She’s always liked Natasha.

He climbs up the steps to his floor and pulls out his key, eyeing Natasha’s door as he passes and wondering if she’s home. He should probably text her, too, so she knows he’s home and that she won’t have to take care of Dorothy tonight. He can do that before he leaves for Clint’s place.

A sigh leaves him as he pushes his key into the door, and he’s glad Clint’s going home Wednesday. He likes his apartment, and he likes Lucky, but he’s missed being home.

He pushes open the door and looks around to see if Dorothy will come trotting over to see him. When he closes the door behind him, his eyes glance down at the floor and he sees a white envelope sitting just in front of the door, as if someone had slipped it under. Bucky just looks at it for a few seconds before bending down and picking it up. He has no idea who’d just shove a letter into his apartment instead of mailing it to him. The front of it isn’t marked, and he feels a sense of dread slowly fill him as he opens it.

As soon as he takes out the letter inside, he sees it.

A little seal holds the letter together, formed from red wax. The red skull with six tentacles looks back at him.

Bucky swallows hard, eyeing his apartment warily as he locks the door behind him and moves to the kitchen. He doubts anyone’s there, but now he’s on edge. He sets his things down beside the counter and opens the letter, breaking the seal as he does so. It hardly gives him any satisfaction.

He wonders vaguely if he should have just kept the letter as it was and submitted it as evidence. But then he wouldn’t have been able to read it, and it’s obviously his to read. Not that he’s sure he wants to, as he unfolds the paper with shaky hands.

The letter is handwritten, and it looks like the writer had used a fine-point pen. Or, he supposes as he glances over the light scrawl, they could have used a fountain pen. It wouldn’t surprise him, considering the seal. The handwriting is neat, bordering on cursive at some points, and it would annoy him that whoever had written this has better handwriting than he does if he weren’t so anxious at the moment.

He grits his teeth, ignores his nerves, and begins to read.

 

_Sergeant Barnes,_

_I apologize for not meeting you in person, however, for personal reasons I am unable to do so. I hope that you are well, though I am aware that you had a small scare today. Worry not, the cause of your temporary strife has been taken care of. He will not bother you anymore._

_I cannot say the same for others, however. You continue to walk a dangerous road, and I cannot stress enough that you are putting your life in danger. I have been watching you, Mr. Barnes, and I have come to grow fond of you. I do not wish to see you harmed, however it is inevitable should you continue on your righteous path of stupidity._

_So I am writing to tell you, Mr. Barnes, that I will continue to warn you of the danger you put yourself in until such a time that the warnings are no longer necessary. Please take my words into consideration. It would not be pleasant for your friends and family to learn that you have ended up like your friend._

_Best Wishes_

 

Bucky sets the letter down on the counter. He hunches over it, trying to quell the insistent urge to throw up.

A million thoughts seem to be running through his mind at once, but one that stands out is whether or not the person was telling the truth about the guy in the alley. He hopes they weren’t, and that he won’t get another call about someone with the red skull carved into their body.

Then he notices the picture.

It’s just the corner of a polaroid, peeking out of the envelope sitting there on the counter. He stares at it, and continues to do so for a solid minute. He doesn’t want to look at it, but he knows he’s going to. As he reaches for it, hand shaking, he already knows what he’s going to see.

The guy with the hoodie lays on the ground in a bloody heap, glassed-over eyes staring upward. There’s a bullet wound in his head, but Bucky notices the marks around his neck and recognizes that he’d also bee strangled. His face is covered in bruises and cuts, and his nose is clearly broken, so he can only surmise that they’d beaten him, too. The symbol is on the ground next to him, bright red and neatly drawn.

This time he can’t control the urge to empty his gut, and he stumbles to the sink, retching what little he still has in his stomach from lunch into it. He rinses out the foul taste from his mouth before sliding down to the floor, his back against the counter. He sits there in silence for a very long time. The minutes pass, and eventually Dorothy comes up to him and rubs against his leg. He reaches out a hand and pets her.

The heavy silence around him is suddenly broken by the vibration of his phone, and he slowly slips his hand into his blazer pocket to retrieve it. He has one text from Steve.

_‘Hey, I’m home. Are you good?’_

At first he doesn’t know what to reply with. He ends up typing out a response that doesn’t really answer Steve’s question, but should still satisfy him.

_‘I’m home.’_

He gets a reply a few seconds later.

_‘Good. Everything okay?’_

A small amount of panic grips him as he stares at the text. Can Steve tell something is wrong? That’d be impossible, he couldn’t know… Does he tell Steve that everything isn’t okay? That he’s sitting on the floor of his kitchen and he just puked in the sink because he’s so upset and afraid and disgusted? That someone is now sending him letters and telling him to ‘back off’ or else he’ll end up the same as the guy he’d just seen earlier today?

Bucky types out his reply.

_‘Yeah.’_

He gets up, walks over to the counter, and pushes the letter and the photo back into the envelope before moving over to the trash. He stops as he stares into it, his gaze moving back to the letter in his hand.

Whoever had killed they guy in the hoodie could have already gotten rid of the evidence. That picture could be the only thing that will identify him. If he does have a family, then Bucky could be the only way they’ll know he’s dead. It’s his fault the guy is dead anyway. If Bucky had brought him in, he would be in police custody right now. And he doubts the letter has any prints on it, but if it does have anything, anything at all…

He shoves the letter into a nearby drawer and slams it shut.

He feels sick as he moves to his bedroom, thinking over the fact that he hadn’t told Steve. If Steve finds out, then he’ll probably never trust Bucky again. Bucky knows he isn’t going to tell him though. He can’t. He can’t drag him into this too. Steve hasn’t been trailed or gotten letters sent to him. He hasn’t been shot at or put in the hospital. Maybe right now, they’re going after Bucky, and if he can keep himself in their sights and Steve out of the spotlight, then they won’t think about him. It’s only a small hope, but it’s the only thing he has. He won’t let Steve end up like Clint. Or worse.

He sheds his clothes and falls into his bed, hoping his exhaustion will kick in and sleep will take him. It does, not long after he lays down, but the nightmares that quickly overtake his dreams are the worst he’s ever had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "So…you and Thompson….are you two…do you…fondue?"
> 
> I don't think Bucky really knew what was on the tip of Steve's tongue. XD
> 
> So after this past week I've realized the error of my ways in promising an update every weekend. Sometimes life happens, and chapters might make it out a little later, especially now that classes have started back up for me this week. That being said, I will always aim for weekend updates, but they might be late sometimes, so I apologize in advance if that ends up happening. I hope you all still enjoy the story even if updates come a little slower!
> 
> Thanks for reading, and I'll see you guys again soon for the next chapter!


	7. "I love a good crime drama.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, an update! :D  
> I'm so happy to be adding this chapter, it was honestly a really tough one for me for some reason. It's also the longest chapter so far, so hopefully that makes up for it taking longer? 
> 
> This chapter is a bit different in that it takes place over the span of five days, instead of one or two. Because of this, I decided that every break in the story will mark a new day, so that might be helpful to note as you're reading.
> 
> With that, here's chapter 7! Hope you enjoy. :)

**S** teve can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong.

Bucky seems normal enough when he comes into work the next day. He even looks at Steve funny when he asks about the texts he’d sent last night. Steve had messaged Bucky again after he’d only replied to Steve’s question of whether or not he was okay with _‘Yeah’_. _‘Yeah’_ wasn’t very convincing. Even worse, his next text of _‘Are you sure everything’s okay?’_ hadn’t been replied to at all, and Steve had honestly been worrying all night. He’d been tempted to call Bucky, but then if he’d really been okay he didn’t want to have to end up feeling dumb and making Bucky upset on top of that. He knows now from yesterday’s events that Bucky is a pretty tough guy, and he’s very self-aware of that. He probably wouldn’t appreciate feeling like Steve is coddling him just because he doesn’t text him back one time. So Steve had just swallowed his anxiety and let it sit in the pit of his stomach last night, hoping that Bucky really was okay. When he first saw him this morning, he’d felt relieved, because at least physically, Bucky looks fine. But after getting closer and talking to him, Steve feels like something might be off.

It might be due to the red around Bucky’s eyes, or the way he stares off once in a while, distracted by seemingly nothing. Or it could be the way that he suddenly gets this pained expression on his face and then won’t look Steve in the eye. Whatever it is, it makes Steve think that Bucky had been lying to him last night, and he wonders how he can breach the subject without a repeat of yesterday’s little disagreement.

When Steve tells Bucky he’d texted him again, he looks confused, then checks his phone and gives him a shrug and a flippant excuse. “Sorry, I fell asleep last night. Guess I forgot check my phone this morning.”

Steve wants to say something more about it, he really does. But he’d asked Bucky to tell him if something happened again, and he can’t let him know that he’s already having doubts about believing Bucky, even if it’s true. It wouldn’t do them any good right now, and he has a feeling that Bucky would probably just shut down on him like he had yesterday. Either that or he’d get upset with Steve, and that’s not something he wants while they’re trying to work on this case together.

So he keeps his thoughts and worries to himself, but he makes sure to give Bucky a good once-over every once in a while, just to see how he’s holding up. Aside from looking pretty tired and at times appearing frustrated or forlorn, he seems to be doing okay. Until they get the call from forensics.

When Bucky’s cell rings and he looks at the caller ID, he takes a moment to answer. Instead he simply stares at his phone for a moment with a serious expression. Steve watches him when he finally takes the call, and witnesses the array of emotions that cross Bucky’s features as the conversation goes on. At first, he’s professional, then wary when he talks to the other person and asks what they’ve found. For a moment, he seems fine, and Steve thinks maybe they just haven’t found anything of importance. But then he sees it, watches as Bucky’s eyes widen in shock and then close, jaw clenching as he looks like he’s both struggling not to punch a wall and be sick at the same time.

When the call has ended, Steve lets Bucky have a moment. He waits until he decides he’s ready to tell him whatever he’d learned. When he does, Steve almost wishes he hadn’t.

“It was about the knife…” he doesn’t look at Steve as he speaks, one hand clutching the back of his desk chair and the other still holding his phone in a tight grip. “They found DNA on it. It’s Greymore’s.”

Steve is confused for a moment, until realization hits him.

“So he…”

Bucky nods, straightening up and glancing over at Steve. “Yeah.”

He never imagined the possibility that Greymore could do something like that to himself. It would be too much pain, surely. Even if he was made to do it by someone else, Steve can’t believe that he’d possibly be able to complete the whole mark. And even if someone _did_ want him to do it, why would he? Was he promised he’d be let go if he did?

Steve shakes his head, deciding to voice his thoughts. “What if it wasn’t him?”

Bucky looks over at him, clearly confused, so Steve explains. “It would be too much pain. He’d most likely pass out…and even if he didn’t, the skull of the mark was done neatly enough that it almost definitely couldn’t have been him. His hands would have been shaking too badly and the angle would have made things difficult. Maybe someone wants us to _think_ it was him? Maybe they put his DNA on the knife on purpose?”

Bucky seems to consider this, and the tension visible in his shoulders seems to relax a bit as he does. “Maybe…”

“We can’t know for sure yet. Let’s not jump to conclusions.”

Bucky nods his agreement, and after that they avoid talking about the mark. Later, after they take a break for lunch and then get back to working on the case, Bucky makes the suggestion that they dig deeper into Greymore’s mental state before he died. Steve mentions the fact that Zola was supposed to be making a report about that, but Bucky shakes his head.

“I don’t want to rely on him. I think we should make our own conclusions.” He shrugs, looking over to Steve with a cocked brow. “’Sides, isn’t it better to have more than one perspective?”

Steve thinks it over for a moment, giving a nod. “Alright. Sure, let’s do it.”

Steve calls Greymore’s wife and sets up an interview with her while Bucky looks into getting Greymore’s medical history. She’s a little adverse to talking with them, and Steve finds out why when he learns that Zola requested to talk to her as well. He isn’t surprised, and he wishes they could talk to her before Zola does, but apparently he’d gotten to her before they did because she’s scheduled to meet with him tomorrow.

He lets her know how important this interview could be to the case, and that they’re willing to wait until she’s ready to talk to her. She thankfully acquiesces after that, and they set up a time for Sunday, so that the family will have time to grieve and hold Greymore’s funeral. Steve thanks her and apologizes for her loss, before hanging up.

“Zola’s talking to her?” Steve looks over at Bucky, who looks back at him from where he’s leaning in front of his computer.

“Yeah, tomorrow. I was hoping we’d get to talk to her before he does, but I guess that’s not gonna happen.”

Bucky looks back at his computer, frowning. “He’ll probably find out that we’re planning on talking to her, too. What if he tells her that talking to us isn’t a good idea?”

“Then we let her know how important it is that we talk to her. We make her understand that _we’re_ the ones conducting the investigation into her husband’s death, and it’s ultimately our responsibility to look into what happened. We can’t help that they put Zola on this case, but we can still fight to keep control of it.”

Bucky looks back over at Steve, and he must be satisfied with his answer, because as he takes a seat at his desk a little smile is on his face.

“Well alright then. Let’s show ‘em who’s boss.”

* * *

 

“Am I still helping you find a suit tomorrow?” Sam asks, panting lightly and looking over at Steve as they jog through the chilly early morning air together.

“Yep. If you don’t mind.” There aren’t many people out yet as they jog down the street. Steve isn’t really surprised, considering it’s not even six-o-clock in the morning. Sam had been bugging him to go jogging for a while, and Steve’s been too exhausted from work to give in to the request, but he decided to finally get back into their routine. Today is the first day in a while he’d woken up feeling like he didn’t want to just pass out again immediately.

“You kidding? I’ve been trying to get you to go and buy a good suit for years. Pretty sure you haven’t gotten a new one since I met you.”

Steve shrugs, minding his pace so he can jog in time with his friend. If he isn’t careful, he might start slipping ahead, and Sam always lets him know exactly how he feels about that.

“That’s not true. I just went out and got some after I got promoted.”

Sam pins him with a seriously unimpressed look. “That does _not_ count. You went out and got suit _jackets_ and a few pairs of _slacks_ , but those things combined don’t make up a nice, classy suit, Steve.” He sighs, shaking his head. “I thought that was common sense, but I guess you love to prove me wrong. Y’know, why hasn’t Peggy gotten on you about this yet? Actually, you know what, never mind. She probably thinks it’s endearing or something.”

Steve grins. “I don’t think she knows, actually. I wore a pretty nice one to her wedding. Since then I just haven’t really had a use for one. I think the last time I wore an actual suit was your sister’s wedding.”

“Man, that was three years ago. You haven’t even thought about looking?”

“Like I said, haven’t really had a use.”

Sam reaches over, patting his chest. “It’s okay buddy, I got your suit-deprived back.”

Steve huffs a laugh, jogging ahead a little. “Thanks pal.”

“Hey, where do you think you’re goin’?”

He turns around, jogging backwards as he looks at Sam. “Thought I’d try some actual running.” He can hear Sam scoff behind him as he turns around and begins to run.

“Yeah, you go ahead. I’m gonna put you in a powder-blue suit with ruffles, just you wait and see.”

When Steve gets to work later in the morning Bucky hasn’t shown up yet. By the time Steve has gotten the files out for their case and has been going over things for a good half-hour, he finally exits the elevator.

He looks worse than yesterday. Steve rises slowly from his seat, taking in Bucky’s tired features. His eyes are still red-rimmed and the dark circles beneath them are more prominent. He looks pale and his moves are slightly sluggish as he walks toward his desk. He looks over at Steve and manages a small smile, and Steve struggles to return it, knowing that it can’t be real.

“Morning,” Bucky greets as he sits down and begins to get files out so they can pick up where they left off yesterday.

“Hey.” Steve can’t manage to keep the concern out of his voice as he replies, but if Bucky notices, he doesn’t show it. Instead he gets out what they’d been going over yesterday, laying all of the relevant papers on his desk and then waking up his computer.

Steve has to take a moment to speak again, still unsure of whether he should be asking or not, but knowing that he has to. “Are you…okay?”

Bucky barely glances at him before going back to opening documents on his computer. “Yeah, sure. Just a little sick is all,” he replies casually.

He knows he doesn’t really believe Bucky, but he considers whether or not he wants another argument. It’s not that he’s afraid of one, he knows he’ll take on a friend about their well-being any day, even if that means creating some tension. But now he has to make sure he doesn’t push Bucky away, for the sake of their case. He decides to compromise.

“Okay. You know if there’s anything wrong you can tell me though, right?”

Bucky doesn’t look at him this time, paying more attention to his computer now as he types something into an email.

“Sure.”

The answer doesn’t really satisfy Steve, and he decides to throw caution out the window. The case is important, but right now it can’t come before Bucky’s health or his safety. Especially not after what happened two days ago.

“Bucky-”

“I think we should look into Stark.”

That…wasn’t the response Steve had been expecting.

“What?” He looks at Bucky in confusion.

“Well Greymore worked for Stark didn’t he?” Bucky looks up at him. “I’m not saying Tony Stark is behind this or anything, but we should at least ask his coworkers if he was acting strange in the days leading up to his death. Maybe see if he even got fired or reprimanded or something.” He looks back at his computer, continuing with his email as he speaks. “We should get the history off his work computer too. We have his personal, and that didn’t have much on it.”

Steve stares at him. He doesn’t really know what they’d find on Greymore’s work computer if they hadn’t found anything on his personal. It had been released to them yesterday, and it hadn’t contained anything helpful. Greymore’s browsing history had everything from news sites to Youtube videos about cute animals to the travel sites where he’d been planning a vacation to Hawaii with his family. But nothing suspicious or helpful to their case. His emails weren’t anything interesting either, and the documents on his computer were scarce. He had a lot of pictures, but they were all of his family, or of nature, or of him with friends.

There hadn’t been anything on it that suggested why someone wanted Greymore dead. So why should his work computer, which would definitely be monitored at a place like Stark Industries, be any different? It probably has even less on it than his personal. Still, Steve thinks, it couldn’t hurt to check it. They may as well chase all the leads they have.

“Okay. I can get his computer while you talk to people he worked with.”

Bucky nods. “Yeah, sounds good.”

It isn’t until they take a break for lunch that Steve realizes Bucky had distracted him. By that time he’s out grabbing food with Morita, and when he gets back Bucky is nowhere to be found. He assumes he’d gone to get something to eat and although the thought of him going out alone makes Steve uncomfortable, he resists the urge to text or call him. Instead, he contacts Sharon like he’s been meaning to, knowing it’ll at least distract him for a little while.

Sharon is a little confused to hear from him again so soon, but when he tells her about the benefit ball she’s immediately excited. She says yes before he can even say anything else, and Steve laughs, glad that she knows him so well and that he hadn’t had to grovel. He hadn’t been sure whether or not she’d be free, the ball being this Saturday and Sharon of course having a life of her own. But when he’d expressed this to her she laughed and told him that being wined and dined all night is something she can cancel her plans for.

“But you better pick out a new suit for this thing, or the deal’s off,” she states, and Steve laughs before ensuring her that Sam will be helping him with that.

When he gets back from his call, Bucky’s sitting at his desk, burger and Coke sitting to the side while he writes something down.

“Hey, that lunch?”

Bucky looks up at Steve as he walks over, and he gives him a little smile. He looks a little better than he had this morning, which makes Steve think that maybe he really has just been sick. Although if that were true, a burger wouldn’t be the best thing for him to be eating right now. He decides to keep that thought to himself, knowing Bucky probably wouldn’t appreciate it.

“Yeah. Wanted a Reuben from my favorite sandwich place, but they were out of sauerkraut _and_ the dressing. Can you believe that?” He shakes his head in disappointment, looking back down at his desk and giving a sigh. “Go there practically every day for a sandwich, and they’re suddenly outta sauerkraut and dressing.”

Steve huffs a laugh as he sits at his own desk, a familiar saying running through his mind at Bucky’s frustration.

“Jeez, anyone yell at you lately?” He murmurs, more to himself than to Bucky, because he’s learned from experience not to say it out loud. When he'd first said it to Sam it was after listening to him complain about Netflix not having the newest season of his favorite show, and after Sam had made him explain what it meant, he let him know that _he’d_ be yelling at Steve a lot more if he said it to him again.

“What?” Steve looks up to see Bucky watching him with an expression he can’t quite place. If Steve were to guess, he’d say it’s somewhere between confusion and surprise, but he feels like there’s something else there that he can’t be sure of.

Steve knows it’s a weird saying though, and he never means for people to actually hear him when he says it, so he feels bad when he realizes he’d said it a bit too loud this time.

“Oh, it’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.” He gives him a little smile and looks back down at his work, hoping Bucky will take his advice and that he won’t have to explain what he meant by the harmless phrase.

He decides to forget about it, thankfully, and Steve sees him turn back to his desk out of the corner of his eye. The rest of their day together goes smoothly, something Steve is thankful for. He ends up setting up a time with Stark Industries to go and get Greymore’s computer while Bucky finds a good time for him to go in and talk to some people. By the end of the day Bucky seems to be almost back to normal, even though Steve can tell that he still seems tired. As he leaves, Steve asks him to text him once he’s home again, and even though Bucky rolls his eyes as he walks off to his car, he gets a text forty minutes later as he’s slipping off his shoes back at his apartment.

_‘I’m home. Told you not to worry.’_

* * *

 

Steve is definitely worried.

If Bucky seemed to look a little worse-for-wear yesterday, he looks completely out of it today. It’s like he went drinking last night and now he’s shown up to work with a hangover, but when Steve asks him if that’s what happened, Bucky just gives him the “I’m sick” card again.

Steve doesn’t believe a word of it though, it’s too much of a coincidence. Something is getting to him, and Steve thinks that maybe the stalker he’d had is stressing him out more than he’s been letting on. And if Bucky thinks the guy is still following him, well then, Steve’s just going to have to convince Bucky that they need to track him down and bring him in.

He waits until they take a break in working on the case to bring it up.

“No one’s followin’ me, don’t worry about it,” is Bucky’s reply, and he sounds reassuring enough, but Steve still isn’t convinced.

“Maybe not, but even if no one is, the stress that someone _could_ be is enough to get to anyone.” Steve watches Bucky carefully for his reaction, so he notices the second Bucky becomes annoyed.

“Look, Steve.” Bucky puts down the pen he’d been using and looks over at him. “I get that you’re worried okay? I do. But it’s _fine_. I’m fine, no one’s followin’ me, I don’t _think_ anyone’s followin’ me, and I’m not gonna worry about if someone is.” He looks back at his work and picks up his pen again, calming down a little. “I can’t worry about that stuff all the time.”

Steve stays quiet and simply watches Bucky for a moment before speaking again.

“Then what is it?”

“What?” Bucky puts his pen down and looks back over at Steve, clearly confused and slightly annoyed again.

“Something’s bothering you, Bucky. You look…” Bucky raises a brow at him when Steve hesitates for a few seconds as he thinks of what to say. “…bothered.”

It’s not really the most eloquent of statements, but it’s Steve’s honest opinion. Bucky apparently can’t look past Steve’s minor slip-up though, because he just gives him an unimpressed look.

“So…you think something’s bothering me…’cause I look _bothered._ ” He just stares at Steve for a few seconds before he turns a little toward Steve in his chair, gesturing with his hand as he speaks. “What about me looks bothered, Steve? Is it my hair? My clothes? Maybe my whole damn _face?_ What? What does _bothered_ mean?”

Steve’s a little thrown off by Bucky’s reaction, and he starts to feel annoyed himself but he doesn’t let that show, instead directing an unimpressed look of his own back at Bucky.

“No. You look…” He thinks again for a moment, then finally decides to just say what he’d wanted to the first time. “…tired.”

Bucky actually laughs, though it’s less-than-pleasant, and he turns back to his work, shaking his head. “Gee Rogers, anyone ever tell you it’s rude to tell someone that? If I was a lady I’dve clocked ya one.”

“I just-"

“Look. I appreciate the concern an’ all, but I’m just stressed from the case, okay?” Bucky doesn’t look at him as he speaks, instead choosing to continue with whatever he’d been writing. Steve is kind of grateful, or else he’d see the defeated expression he’s certain is on his face right now. “’M not gonna faint on you or let it affect my work, so just let me worry about it and you keep doin’ your part.”

Steve sighs, his gaze finally drifting away from Bucky.

“By the way, how’s your part comin’?” Steve looks back at him, a little surprised at the sudden question, before looking down at his case notes. He’d forgotten to tell Bucky about what he’d found, too caught up in his concern.

“It’s weird…I can’t find anything,” he states, feeling a little embarrassed over the fact he hadn’t mentioned this to Bucky earlier, although he tries not to let it show.

Bucky’s looks over at him, clearly confused. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I can access things he had online, like his email and his search history, but there’s nothing saved to his computer. Like it’s been wiped.”

“You think someone cleared his hard-drive?”

“I think so, yeah.” It’s the only conclusion Steve can come to at this point. There’s nothing on Greymore’s computer. Where there should be work documents or office party photos or excel spreadsheets, there’s blank space. The problem is Steve can’t even begin to wonder who would be capable of accessing Greymore’s computer and clearing his hard-drive.

“I just don’t know who could have done it, or how they would’ve managed it. It could be someone with something to hide who snuck into Stark Industries somehow and got to Greymore’s office,” he muses.

“Or…”

Steve watches Bucky as he trails off, then prompts him to continue when he doesn’t speak again. “Or what?”

Bucky looks over at him. “Or it could’ve been someone who worked closely with Greymore. That’d make it easier for them to have access to his office, and to know when the best time would be to go in and clear his computer.”

Steve considers this, and comes to the conclusion that although he could be right, and someone could have broken into Greymore’s office, Bucky’s suggestion makes more sense. It would definitely be easier for someone who worked with Greymore to get into his office and even have access to his files. They might’ve even known his password.

“Anything note-worthy from his online accounts?”

Steve turns through the pages of his notes until he gets to the one with the details of Greymore’s Stark Industries email account. “Not really. His email mostly had messages to and from coworkers or higher-ups. Sometimes other companies.”

“Such as?” Bucky’s giving Steve his full attention at this point, having paused in his writing so he can go over the evidence with him.

“Some companies here in the U.S., some companies in east Asia…a Russian company called Red Room, a British corporation called SSR, a company based out of Germany called HYDRA…and a few companies from India and north Africa. Nothing that stands out.”

“Hmm…” Bucky looks down at the document he’d been writing on, expression thoughtful.

“What about you? You been in to talk to anyone yet?”

“Not yet, that’s tomorrow. I guess some of the people he worked with were close friends and they took today off to hold a memorial for him.”

“So tomorrow? Do you want me to go with you?” Steve doesn’t really like the idea of Bucky potentially talking to someone who hacked Greymore’s computer and wiped his hard-drive. Whoever’s behind it might be harmless, but he’d still feel better if Bucky had someone watching his back.

Bucky looks at him, an amused smile on his face. “Thanks, but I got this. I think I can take a few office workers.”

Steve shrugs, feeling a little smile of his own appear. “I dunno, I heard they can do some pretty deadly things with a stapler.”

Bucky laughs, and this time it's authentic. The sound automatically relieves some of Steve’s worry he still had about him. If this case is really what’s making Bucky so distressed, then Steve can at least make their time working on it a little easier. Which reminds him of another matter that had been upsetting Bucky.

“I looked into Zola.”

His words obviously take Bucky off-guard, and his expression morphs into surprise, closely followed by discomfort, and Steve almost wishes he hadn’t said anything.

“Really?”

He nods. “Yeah. I looked into his records, and he checked out. Nothing there. Not even a ticket.”

“So his record’s completely clean?”

“Looks that way, yeah.”

Bucky doesn’t look excited, or relieved. Instead, he looks away and stares out the window, biting his lip. Eventually he speaks again, and his voice surprises Steve with its uncertainty.

“Is that a good thing?”

Steve thinks about it, and wonders what Bucky could mean. In the past, someone having no record was almost _definitely_ a good thing. It was rare that he’d come across someone that would commit a serious crime without a history of criminal offences. Bucky should know this, of course, being an investigator and having a history with the force. So Steve isn’t really sure what kind of an answer he wants, but he ends up replying with the only thing he can think of.

“It’s supposed to be.”

Bucky’s quiet for a moment longer. Then he gives a nod, and goes back to his work, leaving Steve speculating on what could be going through his head.

They work mostly in silence after that, but any interaction between them is friendly, which Steve is thankful for after the tense moment they’d experienced earlier. Eventually they decide to pack up and call it a day, and Steve is grateful for it, considering he promised to meet Sam at seven so they can go shopping. There aren’t many new developments in the case by the time they finish up, but Steve doesn’t let that get to him. He hadn’t really been expecting to stumble across a major breakthrough when their only lead had been wiped clean. He does send the hard-drive down to the people in tech so they can take a look at it and see if they can possibly still get something from it. Bucky declares that he isn’t holding out for anything, but Steve holds on to a little bit of hope at the prospect of maybe getting something off of it.

As they’re leaving, Steve is about to ask Bucky if he’ll text him again, but he doesn’t get the chance. Instead, as Bucky walks off to his car, he waves over his shoulder and answers Steve’s question for him.

“See ya tomorrow. And don’t worry, I’ll text you when I’m home.”

Steve can only smile as he gets into his own car and drives home.

Later, when he and Sam are shopping for a new suit, Steve finds that Sam won’t stop grinning at him.

“Okay what. What is it?” He stares at his best friend in the full-length mirror he’s standing in front of, feeling a little offended at whatever personal joke Sam’s so amused about that he isn’t in on.

Sam shakes his head and gives a chuckle. “It’s just that you’ve been telling me all about your day, and like ninety-percent of it is nothing but this Bucky guy.”

Steve shrugs into a new suit jacket, wondering at whether or not he can pull off its light grey color. “Well you should’ve seen him earlier. He just looks…”

“Bothered?” Sam grins at him again, and Steve sighs, looking back at him.

“I should’ve never told you about that.”

“What? He was just getting under your skin Steve. Keepin’ you on your toes. Kinda like me.”

Steve smiles, looking back at his reflection. “Oh yeah? I thought it was usually the other way around.”

“Hey.” He can see Sam point at him in the mirror’s reflection, and he smiles wider. “Just because you can outrun a cheetah doesn’t mean I can’t get you where it counts.” Sam taps his head, and Steve shakes his own as he adjusts his tie.

“Well do you wanna use some of that brain-power and help me pick out a suit?”

Sam sighs and gets up, walking over to where Steve is standing . He folds an arm across his chest, the elbow of his other arm resting on it as he grips his chin in his hand. He just stands there for a moment, contemplating gaze moving all over Steve before finally meeting his eyes in the mirror.

“Alright. You want my honest opinion?”

Steve just raises a brow at him in response.

“Get rid of the tie. Go with a tux. You’ll need to get it fitted, and when you do go for a slim-fit. When you’re all done you’ll come out looking like the next James Bond. And trust me, at a party like the one you’re gonna be at? That’s a good thing.”

Steve looks back in the mirror, thinking it over. He hasn’t worn a tux in…well, since he went to senior prom with Peggy years ago, so the thought’s a little intimidating. But he trusts Sam’s judgement, and if he’s wearing a black tux he’ll hopefully blend in with a lot of the other people wearing them at the ball. Sam pats him on the back.

“Trust me, you’re gonna look good. Plus you can keep it around for a while. But don’t even _think_ of wearing it to the next fancy ball you get invited to.” Sam points a finger at him in warning. “Trust me. I’ll know. Now c’mon, I wanna get some new Nikes while we’re out and we still have to go and get you fitted.”

Steve doesn’t really know why he can’t just wear the tux to every formal event he’ll be invited to in the next five years, if he’s honest. It’ll be a black tuxedo, who will know it’s the same one he’d worn at this year’s benefit ball? He decides not to argue with Sam for now, but he doesn’t plan on letting the issue go, and he goes over potential arguments he could make in his head as Sam helps him put back the suits before dragging him out to the Nike store and then to get him fitted for a tux.

By the end of the night, Steve’s pretty sure that his bank account would be crying if it were a person. As it stands, _he’s_ about to make up for the fact that it can’t as he lays out his new tux and shoes on his bed. Sam had almost made him buy a new watch, but Steve had managed to get out of that one by bringing up the Longines watch Peggy had gotten him for Christmas. Steve’s suddenly glad he’d let Peggy get away with forcing him to accept it, no matter how uncomfortable it’d made him to take something so expensive. He’s been too afraid to wear it since he’d gotten it, but now he has an excuse. He just hopes he doesn’t break it the one time he decides to wear it, even if he does have a warranty.

Sighing to himself, he hangs up the tux and puts the shoes in a safe place before getting ready for bed. He’s suddenly feeling more nervous about this stupid ball than he is about the case. He’s just thankful Sharon will be there to charm everyone for him. Maybe if he’s lucky he can get away with sitting at their table most of the night. Then he reminds himself that because he’ll be with Sharon and she’ll want to charm people all night, he won’t be able to do that.

He sighs again.

* * *

 

“Any word from tech yet?”

“No…”

Steve watches Bucky as they stand in front of his desk, documents sprawled out on it and cluttering the whole surface. He looks almost ill, and Steve feels the worry that had been creeping into the pit of his stomach since he’d first seen him this morning grow, until it’s a heavy weight in his gut and he can hardly stand to look at Bucky without saying something.

“So you’ll know more about the hard-drive when they get it back to you…” He circles something on a document, but Steve hardly pays attention to the action, instead letting his eyes roam over Bucky’s face for the hundredth time.

Steve almost couldn’t believe how rough he looked when he’d first walked into work. He isn’t sure if it’s just today that’s especially bad, or if Bucky has just been progressively worse all week, but if he had to choose one, he’d have to pick the latter. He doesn’t really want to admit to himself that Bucky had been coming in to work in worse shape every day and Steve hadn’t confronted him or really tried hard enough to do anything about it, but he has to.

Something is wrong with Bucky, and Steve hasn’t done enough to help him.

He’s the worst partner ever. And the worst friend, although he doesn’t know if Bucky considers him to be one yet. It doesn’t matter to Steve though, because Bucky is a friend to _him_ , and now he’s gone and failed to look out for him. Bucky might be a grown-man and Steve has no doubt that when Bucky says he can take care of himself he means it, but sometimes there’s only so much someone can take. And right now Steve can tell that Bucky is handling too much.

He has to say something, or he’s worried about what could happen. Bucky could exhaust himself at the rate he’s going. No matter what he says, Steve actually wouldn’t be surprised if he _does_ faint at some point in the near future, he looks that bad. His eyes are sunken and red-rimmed, worse than they’ve been all week. The dark circles under his eyes almost look like bruises, and he’s sickly pale. It makes his dark stubble stand out, which is another thing that had alarmed Steve, because in the two weeks they’ve been working together, Bucky had never let his facial hair grow this much. It’s not more than a dark five-o’clock shadow, but it’s still more than Bucky’s ever let grow on his face before. Steve had been under the impression that he probably shaves at least every day. Now it looks to Steve like he’s forgotten for at least a couple of days, and it’s another indicator to Steve that Bucky is either very ill, or currently not in a great state of mind. It could even be both, which makes Steve worry even more.

So when there’s a lull in the conversation, Steve steels himself and once again brings up the topic he’d been trying to get an answer to all week, determined this time to not get distracted.

“Bucky.”

Bucky looks up at him, blinking tiredly in the bright light of the office.

“Something’s wrong with you,” Steve states, leaving no room for argument this time. Bucky looks back down at the documents.

“No there isn’t. I’m just tired Steve.”

“Seriously Bucky. What’s wrong?” He tries to make his tone a mix of gentle and firm, something he’d ended up doing often in the army with soldiers he worked with who didn’t want to tell him when they were having a problem. Back then it could have jeopardized the mission or their life. Now it feels like the exact same situation, except this time it’s more personal, because Bucky’s his friend.

“Nothing. Just don’t feel that great because this case is so damn stressful, that’s all.” He continues to ignore Steve, highlighting words in a document that Steve had just read through. He’s pretty sure there’s nothing in it worth highlighting.

Steve’s eyes narrow, and he doesn’t mean to sound accusing but Bucky has been avoiding his questions all week, and Steve’s concern is catching up to him.

“I don’t believe you Bucky.”

He sighs and rolls his eyes, putting the highlighter down before looking over at Steve. “I told you, I’m _fine_. I’ve been telling you all week. Are you hard of hearing or somethin’?”

Steve sees it for the jab that it is, and refuses to rise to it. He won’t let himself get distracted this time. “I’ve been hearing you just fine. But all I’ve been hearing all week are lies.”

Bucky’s mouth slowly shuts and his jaw clenches as he gives Steve a hard look. “How the hell would you know if I’ve been lying or not?”

Steve doesn’t falter, just stares right back at him. He wishes there were a different way to have this conversation, but he can’t mask the way he feels. He’s never been good at lying.

“Because I _see_ you every day Bucky. You keep coming to work looking worse and worse.” He can feel the concern he’s been holding in all week boil over, and he knows it’s probably showing plain-as-day on his face right now. “If you’re really that sick, why not rest for a day? You look like you need it, Buck.”

Bucky looks away, jaw still tight. Steve watches as a muscle ticks beneath his stubbled skin.

“I don’t want to take any time off. I want to finish this case. After that, I’ll be fine.”

“I thought you said that you’re already fine.”

“I AM!” Bucky slams the highlighter down on the desk, and if Steve hadn’t been tensed from their argument, he would’ve jumped. As it is, he just stares at Bucky calmly, while he looks back at him with pure agitation. “I’m fine, okay!? I’m _fine_.”

He only keeps his gaze on Steve for a few seconds before standing up and getting his things together.

“Where are you going?” Steve is completely confused, and feeling a little guilty. He’d never wanted to get Bucky this upset.

“I’m going to interview Greymore’s coworkers. I’ll be back in a while.” Bucky doesn’t look at him as he continues to gather his things. Steve wants to tell him that he should come with him, but he knows that won’t go down well. Instead he just continues to watch Bucky as he packs all of his things together and then leave the office, staring after him until the doors of the elevator close.

He slowly turns back around and stares at the desk in front of him, thinking over what had just happened, if he’d done the right thing, and feeling so many different emotions twist around in his gut. He doesn’t know how long he sits there, staring at nothing, until Morita walks by and puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey pal, everything okay?”

Steve looks up at him, and even though he knows that he’s a terrible liar, has been told this a million times, he nods.

“Yeah. I’m fine.”

He can tell by the skeptical look on his face Morita doesn’t believe him, but he still pats Steve on the shoulder and walks off, leaving Steve alone with his thoughts once again. Eventually he decides to try and work on the case some more, but he finds that he can’t get much done. After about an hour, he gets a call that informs him Zola’s submitted his report. He quickly goes and retrieves it before returning to his desk and reading over it immediately.

It’s a very embellished report, Steve notes quickly. Apparently Zola isn’t the type to keep things short and simple. He also notices that Zola takes more than a few opportunities to mention himself in the report, as if he can’t go more than a paragraph without drawing attention to the fact that he wrote it. Steve finds himself growing more and more annoyed as he reads through it, but that annoyance soon turns to frustration when gets to Zola’s analysis and realizes the conclusion he’s coming to. By the end, Steve isn’t surprised by Zola’s verdict on the case, and he sets the report down on the table before folding his arms tight across his chest and glaring down at it.

Zola had determined Greymore’s death was a suicide. Steve honestly isn’t even a little surprised. He’d been suspecting that maybe Zola had been thinking that way even before he’d started the report. He’s a psychological specialist, and he could be biased, even if he apparently has good standing with police and his work has helped them in the past. Steve’s not willing to be so easily convinced, especially after reading through the report. Zola obviously has a high opinion of himself from what Steve can tell, so analyzing Greymore’s mental state and connecting it directly to the case is something he probably took great pride in.

Steve quickly finds that doesn’t want to think about the report or Zola anymore, and a few minutes later he gets a nice distraction when tech calls him to let him know the hard-drive is ready. He goes to retrieve it and is told that they couldn’t salvage anything, which is definitely a disappointing discovery, but one he doesn’t let keep him down for too long. He instead lets himself believe that maybe Bucky will find something at Greymore’s work. As the time continues to pass though, Steve becomes more convinced that he should have gone with him. He knows Bucky is capable and will know all the right questions to ask, but they’ve been doing everything together so far, and Steve feels like he might have been of at least _some_ use. Before he can follow this train of thought too far however, he’s pulled from his musings by someone dropping a USB drive onto the desk in front of him.

He looks up at Bucky, who walks around the desk and takes a seat.

“Got that from a friend of Greymore’s.”

Steve looks back at the USB, confused. “A friend?”

“Yeah. Guy who worked with him. They were close, apparently. Greymore gave that to him and told him to give it to the police if anything happened to him.” Bucky sits back in his chair, arms crossed as he looks down at the desk.

“That Zola’s report?”

Steve looks up from where he’d been staring at the USB in shock. He’d been expecting Bucky to get _some_ information, but this? This could be a major breakthrough.

“Yeah, don’t bother reading it though,” he replies, watching Bucky raise a brow at him.

“Boring as fuck?”

Steve smiles a little. “No. Dumb as fuck.”

Bucky grins at Steve, as if delighted at the fact that he got to hear him say “fuck” for the first time, and it’s enough to loosen the knot that had been in Steve’s stomach since Bucky left earlier.

“That so?”

“Yeah, he said it was a suicide. Talked about himself a lot, too.” Steve looks down at the report in distaste, already reminded of how much he’d hated reading it.

“Big surprise,” Bucky remarks, and Steve looks back up at him, gaze questioning.

“What, that he said it was a suicide or that he talked about himself a lot?”

“Both.” He grins over at him again, and Steve laughs. Still smiling, Bucky picks up the USB and looks at it in his hand. “’Least we have this now.”

“Yeah…” Steve looks back at the USB again, a question soon forming in his mind that he decides to voice. “If Greymore told his friend to give it to police if anything happened to him, why did it take his friend this long to give it to us?” He looks to Bucky, who just shrugs.

“He was in mourning? He didn’t think about it ‘til I got there? I dunno, point is he gave it to me.”

“Do we know what’s on it?” Steve takes note of how unassuming the USB looks. It’s a simple black drive, no initials or anything on it to tell someone who it might belong to. Greymore must have trusted this friend a lot to give him something he may have potentially died for.

“All the files are encrypted, I already tried. We’ll have to get it to tech.”

Steve nods, gaze drifting back to Bucky’s face. “Okay. Want me to take it down for you?”

Bucky looks back at him for only a second before getting up from his seat. “No thanks, I was actually thinking I might head home now…I can take it down on my way out.”

He watches in confusion as Bucky picks up his bag. “You’re going home?”

“Yeah.” Bucky smiles again then, just a little tilt of the lips. “Some punk told me to go home and get some rest. And I think I’ve done enough for today, so that’s what I’m gonna do.”

Steve smiles back, not caring that Bucky can’t see it as he walks toward the elevator. “Jerk.”

Bucky doesn’t look back as he speaks, pressing the button for the elevator. “This jerk might’ve just saved this case. You’re welcome.”

Steve laughs, turning back to his desk and shaking his head. The elevator dings a few seconds later, and he looks back as Bucky boards it. Their eyes meet for a second after Bucky presses the button for parking, and when Steve smiles at him Bucky returns it.

He goes home feeling lighter than he has all week.

* * *

 

If his life were an emotional roller coaster, this week would be one of the times the track moved up and down, one hill after another, not giving the rider a break. Steve hates roller coasters that do that. He knows. He’d thrown up on enough of them as a kid.

Now, as he finishes putting on his tux, he stares at his reflection feeling nothing but anxiety wreak havoc on his stomach and fry his nerves. He doesn’t want to go to this thing. He wonders if he can just fake being sick and get out of it, but then he remembers that he’s going with Sharon, and that she’ll make him chug a whole bottle of tums if she has to if it means she can still go tonight.

He sighs, fixing his bow-tie and then making his way to the bathroom to slick his hair over. It was the same thing he’d done for Peggy’s wedding, and she’d told him how handsome he looked when he took a turn dancing with her that night, so he takes that comment to heart now as he fixes his hair. After that he adds some cologne and then he’s grabbing his keys and his wallet and he’s out the door.

He picks Sharon up from her place fifteen minutes later, watching as she leaves her apartment building and walks over to him. He doesn’t need to be attracted to her to appreciate how beautiful she looks. She always looks good, but now, in a floor-length cream dress and her wavy blonde locks gently resting on her shoulders, she’s radiant. He smiles and opens the passenger door for her.

“You look beautiful.”

She smiles back at him, picking up some of her dress so that she can get into the car. “Thanks handsome, so do you.”

He can tell by the appreciative look she’s giving him that she means it, and he feels himself blush at the compliment. He’d thought that maybe he was going a little overboard with how much effort he was putting into his appearance tonight. But next to Sharon, he won’t have to worry at all about standing out. Between the two of them, he’s sure all eyes will go directly to her.

It’s not a long drive to the hotel downtown where the benefit ball is being held, and when they arrive Steve hands the keys over to the valet with only a little hesitancy. It isn’t that his car is expensive, he doesn’t really have any attachment to it at all if he’s honest. It’s more that he’s not used to dealing with valets. At all.

He smiles awkwardly as the young man takes his keys, addressing him as “sir”, and then Steve is slowly walking away as his car is driven off to an unknown location. Sharon grins at him and slides her arm through his.

“Relax Steve. He’s not stealing it.”

“Huh?” He looks over at her in surprise. “Oh, no. I know, it’s just…I don’t know if I have cash on me. You’re supposed to tip them, right?”

She laughs at him and starts leading him toward the entrance. “You’re _supposed_ to, yes. Don’t worry though, I brought some with me.”

Steve gives her an admonishing look. “I still owe you for the coffee…”

“Oh I’ll figure out a way for you to pay me back. Don’t worry.” Steve has no idea what she could mean by that, and his trepidation must clearly show because she laughs at him again. “Relax, I’m not gonna make you scrub my toilets or anything.”

“Well as long as I don’t have to go near _those_.”

Sharon grins and elbows him as they enter the ballroom.

It’s huge, and ornate. Steve has to take a moment to absorb it all.

Crystal chandeliers hang from the ceiling, and tables with deep red tablecloths and elaborate floral centerpieces decorating them are positioned throughout the room. Cream curtains hang from the walls and huge, exotic-looking plants that Steve couldn’t name if he wanted to are positioned next to them. Music flows through the air, thanks to a live band playing an upbeat song on the stage at the front of the room, and woman in a long red dress stands in front of them while she sings in powerful yet dulcet tones.

Steve looks around the room, wondering where they should go. There are already a lot of people in attendance, and the murmur of voices throughout the room is noticeable, even with the music. Steve feels a bit of relief at realizing that he’s not the only one in a tux. Far from it, in fact. He’s dressed like eighty percent of the other men in the room, and this observation makes him quietly rejoice in the knowledge that he won’t stick out like a sore thumb.

“Don’t worry, you blow all these guys out of the water,” Sharon chooses to state then, patting him on the chest. Steve groans inwardly as his self-consciousness spikes again.

They walk further into the ballroom, Steve feeling like he’s clinging to Sharon the entire way, even though she’s the one who’s holding his arm. He looks for people he might know, but there are so many bodies in the room it’s almost hard to single one out.

Finally, he spots Morita, but Steve quickly sees that he’s in conversation with someone else. He notices the woman next to him and guesses she’s his wife. He keeps watching to see if he’ll look over or move away from the conversation, but Sharon pats his shoulder and he turns his gaze away to see what she wants.

“Tell me you know that guy and he doesn’t just keep looking over here to be creepy.”

Steve follows her gaze until he spots Bucky standing a good way across the room. He almost doesn’t recognize him at first, but then he smiles and laughs at something the woman standing next to him says, and Steve knows right away it’s him. He looks much better than he had when Steve had last seen him. His eyes are brighter and Steve can’t see a hint of fatigue on his features. It’s impressive, considering Bucky had looked exhausted all week. He’s clean-shaven and dressed to-the-nines now though, and Steve takes in the sight of him dressed in a slim, tailored suit. The image makes his stomach do something weird, and he doesn’t let himself think too much about it, ignoring it as he makes his way over to where Bucky is standing.

When he gets closer, he notices that the woman Bucky is standing next to is strikingly attractive, and that Bucky’s hand is on the small of her back. He isn’t looking over at Steve as he approaches, instead smiling down at the petite red-head. Steve feels something weird pull in his chest, but he chalks it up to the anxiety he’s still feeling at being dressed in a suit that cost his entire monthly salary in a room packed with people who are probably way more used to events like these than he is.

Still, as he watches Bucky laugh again at something she says, he feels it again, and it’s a bit different than the insecurity he’s been experiencing all night. It’s familiar, too, and he can almost place it…

“Hey.” Bucky smiles over at him when he finally sees him nearing, and the feeling goes away immediately.

“Hi.”

“Glad you made it. Gotta admit, I’m a little surprised to see you. Didn’t know if you’d find something to wear in time.” Bucky’s grin is teasing, and Steve fights to not let his own grow embarrassed in response.

“Yeah well, I had a little help with that.”

“I can see that.” Bucky’s gaze moves slowly from Steve’s shoes to his face, and he tries not to grow red under the scrutiny. Sharon nudges him a little then, and he starts, turning to look at her. She looks back at him expectantly, one blonde brow raised.

“Oh! This is Sharon Carter. Sharon, this is my partner, Bucky,” he states, turning back to Bucky and the petite red-head he’s no longer touching.

“Nice to meet you both.” Sharon shakes Bucky’s hand and then turns to Bucky’s…date? Girlfriend? Steve still isn’t really sure. He’s only noticed that they look to be close.

“Natasha. A pleasure.” Natasha reaches out and shakes Sharon’s hand before reaching for Steve’s. “And you must be Steve.” Her hand lingers on his for a beat longer than it had with Sharon’s, and Steve watches as she withdraws it back to her side. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Really?” Steve is confused, because he’s sure that Bucky’s most likely been annoyed with his worrying all week, so there can’t be much to tell. Unless that’s exactly what he’s been telling Natasha about…

“Sure, when Bucky gets back from work the first thing he mentions-“

“So Sharon, what do you do?” Bucky interrupts, and Steve looks from him back to Natasha, who is now wearing an amused little smile on her dark red lips.

“I’m a lawyer at a firm not far from here. Doesn't sound very interesting, I know.”

“I’ve heard it can be very interesting when you get the right cases,” Natasha replies, and Sharon gives a little laugh.

“Well, I do get some _very_ _interesting_ ones, that’s for sure. So the job can be pretty fun at times. Stressful, but fun.”

“I’ll bet. Sounds kinda like our job.” Bucky winks over at Steve, and he automatically responds with a smile.

“What do you do, Natasha?” Steve looks over at Sharon’s sudden question, eyes landing on Natasha, who’s already watching him. It’s slightly unnerving, and he feels like he’s being closely examined, but her gaze soon moves to Sharon and Steve breaths a little easier.

“I’m in social work. Also stressful, but rewarding.”

“Well, I guess all of our jobs have that in common, then,” Sharon replies, and Steve’s grateful for her ability to move smoothly through a conversation. Natasha seems like the kind of person who would keep Steve on his toes, and normally he would probably be alright with that, maybe even appreciate it, but tonight he’s already preoccupied with trying his best not to embarrass himself. He knows it’s going to be difficult later when Sharon will undoubtedly force him to dance. He’s probably a lost cause already.

Steve doesn’t get to hear Natasha’s reply, because a man appears out of nowhere and gently lays a hand on Steve’s back before leaning in to whisper in his ear.

“Sorry to interrupt sir, but Mr. Stark would like a word with you.” He looks apologetic but stern as he pulls away, moving his gaze toward another part of the room. Steve turns and follows it, catching sight of Tony, who waves at him with a friendly smile. Steve barely gives him a nod before turning back to Sharon.

She’s already looking at him, and Steve realizes that the conversation has stopped so that they can all look between him and the mystery man in varying levels of confusion.

“Um…we’re being called away.” Sharon’s confusion just grows as she stares back at him. Natasha peers over to where Steve had been looking a moment before, and an intrigued little smile appears on her face as she spots Tony.

“Well, don’t want to keep the richest man in Manhattan waiting…”

Steve feels a bit guilty as he looks between them, feeling like he’s leaving them for someone who’s considered to be more important. Honestly, Steve would ignore Stark’s request, but then Tony _had_ gotten him this job in the first place. Not that he feels like he owes him anything, but he also assumes that if he ignores him it would probably just end up creating more trouble than it’s worth.

“Sorry…” He looks at Bucky, then Natasha, who shakes her head a little.

Bucky just shrugs and gives Steve a little smile. “’S alright. Go and see what Mr. High-maintenance wants.” The nickname makes Steve chuckle, but then Natasha is elbowing Bucky and saying “ _You’re_ one to talk,” and that feeling from before suddenly returns and tugs at something in his chest as they begin to bicker playfully.

Sharon pulls him away from the smiling pair, and Steve tries not to let his eyes linger for too long as they walk away.

“Come on, I’m sure we’ll catch up with them later.”

They walk together toward Stark, Sharon again holding his arm as they make their way across the room.

“So…that was Bucky, huh?”

Steve looks over at her, a little surprised at the question. “Uh, yeah. That was Bucky.”

Sharon gets a little smile. “Hm. Maybe Sam was right…”

 _Sam?_ Steve is totally confused. What was Sam right about? And how did it include Bucky? More importantly, how often do his friends talk about him behind his back? “What do you mean?”

Sharon doesn’t get the chance to clarify before they near Tony, who steps forward and pats Steve’s arm with a grin.

“There he is, Mr. tall, blonde, and heroic.” Tony turns to a strawberry-blonde woman in a long purple dress standing next to him. She looks familiar, like Steve might have seen her in the paper or maybe in a magazine once or twice. “Honey, this is the savior of the light of my life. His name’s Steve.”

She rolls her eyes at him, an amused smile on her face. When she directs her attention toward Steve, her smile turns warm, and she reaches out to shake Steve’s hand.

“Pepper Potts. It’s good to finally meet you, Steve. Tony’s only been regaling me with the tale of how you saved his baby for the past two weeks.”

“Well, dear, it’s important to give the man the credit he deserves, right Steve?” Tony pats him on the shoulder again, and Steve stares at him, not really knowing what to do or say. “Right. See, he’s so shocked by my completely flawless logic he’s speechless.” Pepper keeps looking at Tony like he’s a 5-year-old that’s always acting out, but in a way she must find charming, if the little smile still on her face is anything to go by.

Tony suddenly looks over at Sharon, and Steve wonders if he’d even noticed she was there. He assumes not, judging by the sudden look of surprise on his face. “Sorry, didn’t catch your name.”

“Sharon,” she replies sweetly, and anyone who isn’t Steve wouldn’t catch the hint of annoyance in her tone.

“Well, good taste in friends, good taste in women…” Tony gestures to himself and then to Sharon as he speaks, and Steve’s too taken aback by Tony referring to himself as Steve’s friend to correct him about Sharon. “…I should have you pick out my next island.”

Steve really can’t tell whether or not Tony is joking until he speaks again. “Kidding, kidding, of course.” His face holds no trace of humor as he turns to Pepper. “But seriously, we’re rich, why don’t we have an island yet?”

Pepper just gives him that little smile again and pats his chest fondly. “Because you’re building a tower the _size_ of an island. And definitely not a small one, either.”

“You know I think it could be bigger? Maybe I’ll have them make it bigger, I’m sure it wouldn’t be too much of a problem, just add a few steel beams and some drywall-“

“Tony…” Pepper tries to interrupt his monologue but Tony appears to be too distracted by his new train of thought to notice.

“-you know what I was thinking? _Indoor pool_. You think they could do that fifty stories up?”

“ _Tony._ ”

“Yeah.” He seems to snap out of whatever tangent he’d been on as he gives her his attention.

Pepper gives him a chiding look that Steve can only assume she’s made a hundred times before, because its effect on Tony is immediate. He seems to remember that he’d been talking to other people, and he turns back to Steve and Sharon, actually looking a little surprised to see that they’re still standing there.

“Ah, right. Ball, socializing, how could I forget?”

Pepper rolls her eyes at him again, and Steve wonders if she suffers from eyestrain regularly.

“By the way- Steve, mind if I talk to you for a minute?” It sounds like a question, but Steve doesn’t think he’s supposed to answer because Tony goes and places a hand on his arm and looks over to Sharon apologetically. “Hope you don’t mind, I’ll have hunky Sherlock back in a jiff.”

Then he’s being guided away, and he looks back over his shoulder in time to the worried look Sharon gives him. Pepper soon turns her attention toward a man handing out champagne and Steve is quickly forgotten. He glares his betrayal at the back of her blonde head, but she doesn’t notice, and soon Steve can’t see her anymore as Tony drags him off to a less-crowded part of the room. He wonders as they walk if now would be a good time to bring up Greymore, but he dismisses the idea fairly quickly. It probably wouldn’t be a good idea to have that conversation in such a crowded place where anyone might hear. He doubts Tony would know anything anyway, but he’s curious to know if Tony had known him at all. Steve highly doubts it, but he figures it might still be worth bringing up at some point.

Tony finally stops and Steve finds that they’re in a fairly deserted area, standing next to a wall in the back of the room. He wonders why Tony had needed to get him away from other people in order to talk, and it’s only now they’re alone that he actually wonders what he wants. Does he have another ridiculously expensive car that needs saving?

Steve’s eyes widen. Oh _God_ what if he wants to get Steve another promotion?

“Thanks for ditching your date for me, it’s…flattering, really,” Tony says, his tone completely devoid of sincerity. Steve can tell that he’s being sarcastic, and he feels a little of his patience begin to wane.

“What is it that you wanted?”

Tony watches him for a moment, and Steve can almost see the gears turning in his mind as he seems to assess the situation.

“Alright. Look.” He steps a little closer to Steve, keeping his voice at a lower volume. “My contacts in the NYPD told me that your partner picked up a little friend the other day.”

It takes a few seconds for Tony’s words to sink in, but when they do Steve’s eyes widen in surprise. He can only be talking about Bucky’s stalker.

“Who told you that?”

“Not important,” Tony dismisses quickly. He continues, “What’s important is that if he’s made enemies, _you’ve_ made enemies. And from what I heard, things could’ve turned out a lot worse for him.”

Steve’s eyes narrow. “How much do you know?”

“What can I say? I get kept in the loop. I love a good crime drama.”

Tony thinks he’s being funny, Steve can tell. Trouble is, Steve doesn’t think he’s funny at all. His job isn’t some TV show he can just turn on and off whenever he wants. He has to live it.

Tony seems to notice that Steve isn’t finding any part of this conversation amusing, because he doesn’t give Steve the chance to speak before he continues.

“I can help,” he states, and it gives Steve a reason to forget about how he’d been quickly losing patience because now he’s just utterly confused.

“What?”

“Remember that alarm I installed in my car? Top-of-the-line? I want to put that in your apartment. Condo? No, wait, you work for the city, definitely apartment.” Tony pauses for a second, most likely gauging his reaction. He must not see what he’s looking for, because when he speaks again he asks a question Steve doesn’t think many people have heard from him before. “So what do you think?”

Steve stares at him for a short moment before replying.

“That depends. What if I forget to turn it on?”

Tony stares back at him. Then, Steve catches an amused little twitch of his lips. “So, Seriously Stodgy Steve can crack a joke? Color me impressed. But really…” Tony pauses, lowering his voice even more. “I fixed that. It won’t be a problem.”

Steve raises a brow at the admission, wondering if Tony’s actually embarrassed at his past mistake, if only a little.

“What would it cost?”

“What, for my own personal hero?” Tony looks at him expectantly, but Steve only stares back, not following where he might be going with this. “Nothing. I’ll give it to you, get it installed, all of that. Free. So?”

Shocked doesn’t begin to cover what Steve’s feeling right now. He’s also feeling a fair amount of suspicion. Why would Tony give him something like that for free? It’s definitely too good to be true…

“I’m getting a lot of‘blank stare’ here, does that mean you’re all over the idea or did you just fall asleep with your eyes open? Because I can see you being the type.”

He looks at Tony carefully as he replies. “I just have one question.”

“Shoot.”

“Why do you care?”

It’s then that Steve spots a brief moment of unease flicker across Tony’s expression. It’s almost gone before he can think about it, and then Tony is back to the same blasé demeanor he’s been exhibiting all night.

“I can’t look out for our local men-in-black? Seriously though, it wouldn’t sit well with me if the guy who helped me out ended up…well…” Tony doesn’t finish his sentence, and Steve is a little grateful for it. He knows what Tony’s implying, and even though he knows it’s a very real threat to him at the moment, he can’t help but think of someone else who’s probably in greater danger than him.

“Alright. But I want one installed in my partner’s apartment, too.”

Tony seems a little put-off by his request, but he quickly shrugs it off. “Well I wasn’t exactly expecting this to go down like an episode of Deal or No Deal, but fine. I’ll send my guys his way after they’re done with your place.”

Steve nods, and he actually feels a little stress lift from his shoulders at the idea that he and Bucky will now have impassable security systems. As long as they remember to turn them on, of course. He tries to forget his former ill will toward Stark as he thanks him. Maybe he isn’t _quite_ as selfish as other people make him out to be.

“Thank you. I appreciate it.”

Tony grins at him and leans forward, patting his shoulder. “No problem, detective. Just consider it an early Christmas present. Oh and I expect free investigating whenever I need it. Next time I lose my keys I’ll give you a call.”

Steve almost laughs at that. Almost.

Tony leads them back toward where they’d last seen Sharon and Pepper, but when they get there, the two are nowhere to be found.

“Huh. Guess they ditched us. Whelp, might as well hit the bar. You in James Blonde?”

“Uh…I shouldn’t, I’m driving Sharon home later, and-“

“Ah c’mon. One drink isn’t gonna put you over the limit. I vote scotch.” Tony looks toward the bar, and Steve knows that he isn’t going to be able to talk himself out of this one. They make their way over to the bar, and Steve wonders if there’s a limit to how much someone is allowed drink, or how they would keep track of that. It seems like they wouldn’t want anyone to get drunk at a high-class party like this. Steve only hopes that Tony had meant it when he said they’d only get one.

He looks around for Sharon as they walk closer to the bar. Steve hopes that Pepper is still with her. He’d feel horrible is she’s by herself now, and she won’t let him live it down, either. Steve can’t see either of them at the bar, and he looks at some of the nearby tables, wondering if they might have decided to sit down.

There are only a few people sitting down at this point. A lot people are still arriving and greeting people they know. He doesn’t see Sharon or Pepper, though he does catch sight of a severe-looking man sitting by himself at an empty table, sipping a glass of red wine and watching the stage with a steady gaze.

“Looks like everyone had the same idea. Hey, think you could threaten to arrest everyone so we can get up to the bar quicker?” Tony looks over at him and when Steve looks back from the man at the table, Tony’s eyes follow where Steve had been just looking. He must recognize the man, because he smiles and then walks over, Steve following close behind.

“Well, look who’s here. Hittin’ the drink Schmidt? See, now _you_ got the right idea.” Schmidt looks over at Tony, and then to Steve, his eyes carefully taking both of them in. He gently sets the glass down on the table and slowly stands from his seat, extending a hand.

“Mr. Stark, good to see you. I was wondering when I might run into you tonight.”

“I wasn’t. Actually I didn’t think you’d be here. Didn’t you say that charity is for the weak?” Tony shakes his hand, and Schmidt’s stern expression changes into one of mild amusement.

“I think you may be confusing me with yourself, Mr. Stark. I have said no such thing. In fact, even before our companies joined, HYDRA supported more than half of the charities being honored tonight.”

“Well, now you’re just being pretentious.”

Schmidt’s grin simply grows at Tony’s ribbing, and he turns to Steve, holding out his hand once more. Steve takes it with a nod.

“This is Johann Schmidt, CEO of HYDRA,” Tony states, before clapping a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “Schmidt, this is Steve Rogers. He’s a cop.”

Schmidt raises an eyebrow. “A cop? Tony, I thought you of all people would avoid cops like the plague. I have heard you are prone to some less-than-savory…e _ndeavors_.”

Tony looks unaffected as he replies. “Nonsense, cops are great. ‘Specially Steve here. He’s just chock-full of that good ol’ no-nonsense attitude, isn’t that right Steve?” When Tony looks to him, Steve just stares back.

“I see that he is about as amused by your jokes as the rest of your friends,” Schmidt remarks, looking to Steve. “Very unapologetic is he not? It makes me glad to be his business partner, and not his competition.”

“Don’t sell yourself short buddy, you’ve been known to be pretty ruthless yourself. In fact, I’m sure that Pierce is sitting in his cell right now throwing hand-made darts at your picture.”

“What?” Steve looks between them, confused by the sudden mention of Pierce.

“Yes, Pierce was…an unworthy opponent. SHIELD was hardly competition for HYDRA, and Pierce was more of a charismatic entertainer than a businessman.”

“SHIELD was HYDRA’s competition?” Steve attempts to clarify this new information as he recalls seeing emails to and from people working at HYDRA in Greymore’s account.

“They were one of the companies that could have been considered competition for us, yes. I must admit, I was glad to hear that Pierce had been convicted. Something about him always seemed questionable to me.” Schmidt looks as if he’s talking about the time he’d squashed a rather nasty bug when he speaks. Steve can understand why, Pierce had been a real piece-of-work, but Schmidt has even more reason to dislike him if he’d been competition for his company, no matter how reluctant he is to admit it.

“Well, he’ll be behind bars for a long time now, so you and Mr. Stark will have a lot less to worry about,” Steve remarks, and Tony looks to him, clearly offended.

“Mr. Star- what? You mean we’re not on a first-name basis yet? Come on, Steve, you saved my car, I got you a promotion, we’ve spent the last fifteen minutes together. We’re practically best friends!”

Steve can feel a smile pulling his lips but he manages to keep a straight face. Schmidt however can’t keep his own amusement off his face as he watches Tony.

“Betrayal. Complete betrayal, can you believe this guy?” Tony looks at Schmidt, apparently expecting some kind of sympathy or agreement, but Schmidt just raises a brow at him. Steve pats Tony on the shoulder and turns back toward the center of the ballroom, deciding that getting a drink probably isn’t going to happen, and he should probably go and find Sharon. If Tony isn’t going to worry about where Pepper and Sharon are, Steve will go and find them himself. He isn’t particularly worried about Sharon being able to take care of herself- she’s actually gotten him out of some pretty awkward social situations in the past, so he knows that she’ll be fine if left alone. He just also knows that she’ll hold it against him if he doesn’t at least attempt to find her, so he decides it’s time to bid goodbye to Tony Stark. At least for now.

“I’m gonna go find my date. If I see Pepper I’ll let her know you’re at the bar.”

To his surprise, Tony doesn’t look offended or upset at Steve’s departure. “Alright, and hey-“ he pauses, and Steve watches him, paying close attention. “-I’ll be in touch.” Tony gives him a meaningful look, and Steve knows he’s referring to the security system. He doesn’t know _how_ Tony will “be in touch” but he’s sure that it won’t be difficult for him to get ahold of Steve. With what he seems to be capable of knowing, Steve can’t say he’d be surprised if he comes home one day and just sees Stark there in his apartment, installing the system himself. He really hopes he doesn’t decide to do that.

Steve gives him a nod, and then takes his leave. He weaves in and out of the crowds of people now present in the ballroom, eyes searching carefully for Sharon. He can’t seem to find her anywhere. He wonders if she might still be with Pepper, or if she’d found a table to sit at. Steve checks out the nearby tables, but he doesn’t catch a glimpse of her. His eyes move over toward the tables on the far side of the room, and he doesn’t see her there either. He _does_ catch sight of Bucky, though, when a man moves just enough for Steve to spot him over his shoulder.

He stops for a moment and watches him, growing a little confused. Bucky looks…upset? Maybe he’s having an argument with Natasha, but then why does he look so nervous? Steve’s hardly ever seen him like that before, and he begins to make his way over to him without a second thought, going over what could be putting that expression on Bucky’s face in his mind.

When he gets closer, he can finally see who Bucky is talking to, and he starts pushing at people a little so he can get to him faster.

Dr. Zola is standing in front of Bucky, a delighted little grin on his face, and Steve gets the feeling that it’s not because something funny had happened. Rather, it looks slightly vicious, and it makes his stomach churn. When he approaches them, he notices that Zola is the only one speaking, and Bucky’s eyes are wide as he looks at him. Steve has no idea what he’s saying, but he doesn’t plan on making Bucky listen to it any longer. He doesn’t know what it is about Zola that is so discomforting, but Bucky is clearly more affected by it than Steve. He’d found that out first hand at the crime scene a few days ago.

“Bucky.” He places a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, and he jumps a little, looking over at him in surprise. Steve doesn’t look back at him, instead focusing on Zola, who has abruptly stopped speaking.

“Dr. Zola. Good to see you.” Steve is anything but sincere as he stares at Zola, hand still clasped firmly on Bucky’s shoulder. Zola looks almost frightened for a moment, then it’s quickly gone and replaced with one of the fakest smiles Steve’s ever seen.

“Detective Rogers, a pleasure, as always. I was just telling your partner about my hopes that my report has proven useful to your case.”

“It was very useful,” Steve lies, not even putting effort into making it sound sincere. “We appreciate the work you’ve done.”

Zola smiles wider. “Well I am glad that you have changed your mind since last I saw you. I do hope that you utilize my report to its full potential.”

Steve just stares at him, and Zola’s smile falters for a second before he manages to recover. It’s clear to Steve that it isn’t as bright as it had been a moment ago, however. “Well, I must be going. It is always lovely to be invited to these benefits and I must make my rounds if I wish to be considered in the future.” He takes a step back, and Steve watches him warily as he makes his retreat. “Nice to see you again detective. I do hope that we meet again.” Steve is sure that he doesn’t mean that at all as he turns and quickly walks away.

He looks at Bucky, about to ask if he’s alright, but before he can Bucky shakes off his grip and walks off. Steve immediately follows him, until they’re leaving the ballroom and walking down the hall, the sounds of the party growing fainter as they put distance between themselves and the ballroom.

“Bucky,” Steve tries, but Bucky just keeps walking, back rigid. “Bucky, what’s wrong, what happen-“

Bucky stops abruptly and turns around, pinning Steve with a glare. It only last for a few seconds, then it quickly melts into a vulnerable look that has Steve moving forward and placing both his hands on Bucky’s arms. He tries to look him in the eyes, but Bucky quickly shifts his gaze to the floor, crease forming between his brows as his expression clearly betrays his unease.

“Hey, it’s okay. He’s gone Bucky, it’s okay.”

Bucky doesn’t look up at him, so Steve just straightens up a little and waits, hoping that he’ll at least speak to him. He keeps a hand on one of Bucky’s arms, afraid that he might try and leave. Steve knows he can’t stop him if that’s what he wants to do, but for now he can at least keep touching him, and let him know that he’s here.

“I don’t like him…” Bucky finally grumbles, and Steve can’t help it when he gets a little smile.

“I could tell,” he replies, concern quickly returning as he looks at Bucky. “What did he say to you, Buck?”

Bucky chews his lip a little before taking a breath and lifting his gaze to Steve. “He asked me about my time in the marines. He…it was like he knew things.”

“What do you mean?” Steve is stumped, now. Why the hell would Zola want to talk about Bucky’s time serving?

Bucky shakes his head, looking away again. “Forget it. He just freaked me out, that’s all.” He takes a deep breath then, and Steve watches the worry return to his face. “I just don’t want to see him again…” his tone is soft enough for Steve to hear the fear in it, and even though he doesn’t really know what Zola did, he feels a flair of anger whip through him suddenly and he thinks of how much he’d like to take Zola somewhere private and ask him what the hell his deal is. He feels like it might not be appropriate while they’re at the ball though. He can’t know for sure because he hasn’t really been to anything similar before, but he’s pretty sure it’s not appropriate. Then again, maybe no one would notice…

“You won’t have to see him again,” he states, leaving no room for doubt. If he can’t remove Zola from the event, he can at least stay near Bucky and make sure that he doesn’t try to approach him again. “I won’t let him near you, okay?”

Bucky actually looks at him then, and Steve wonders if he’ll tell him that he doesn’t need to be protected.

“Thanks.”

Steve is a little taken aback by the quiet gratitude, but he gets over it quickly, giving Bucky a little smile.

“No problem.” Bucky smiles back at him, and Steve lets himself have his own little internal victory at getting him to do that after being so upset.

“Hey!” He turns at the sound of the familiar voice, spotting Natasha as she approaches. “I was wondering where you went off to. I go to the bathroom for five minutes and suddenly you’re gone…” She eyes Steve when she gets closer, and instead of being upset or angry about finding him there alone with Bucky, Steve thinks she actually looks…intrigued? Maybe even happy? It’s a little confusing and Steve doesn’t really know what to think.

“Yeah, sorry. Just needed some air.”

If she was going to point out the fact that they’re still inside, Natasha chooses not to, instead giving Bucky a little smile.

“Sure. Next time though, you might want to let a girl know before she thinks you ditched her, yeah?” She raises a brow at Bucky, but her expression makes it clear that she’s kidding.

Bucky nods, returning the smile distractedly. “Yeah, sure. Uh, I’m gonna go to the bathroom real quick okay?” He jerks his head toward the bathroom at the end of the hallway.

“Alright,” Natasha replies, watching him walk away. When the door to the men’s room closes behind Bucky, her smile drops and she looks over at Steve, expression serious. “Something is wrong with him.”

Steve can’t even form words for a few seconds, too thrown off by her sudden change in demeanor. So he stares at her, mouth slightly agape, until he manages to say the first thing that comes to mind.

“What?”

“You can’t tell me you haven’t noticed. He’s been getting worse all week.” She pins him with a look that clearly says _“You’re a detective and you haven’t noticed this?”_

Steve does his best to make a quick recovery. “I know. He looks better tonight though.”

Natasha smiles a little at that. “He does. But it doesn’t make up for the fact he hasn’t been doing well the past week.” She looks over toward the bathrooms, ensuring that Bucky isn’t going to come back and hear them.

“What do we do?”

Natasha looks back at him, mildly surprised. Then she smiles at him again, and Steve can’t help but feel like he’d just gained some sort of approval from her.

“We get to the bottom of this,” she replies, serious once more. “I’ve been keeping an eye on him all week. You’ve been seeing him at work, so you know what he’s like while he’s there. We’ll have to compare notes. We don’t have time to talk about it now, but I can steal his phone later and get your number off of it.” She looks over as the bathroom door opens, and Bucky appears a second later. “I’ll text you later,” she says lowly, and Steve feels really awkward because there’s no way that Bucky would appreciate hearing his girlfriend say that to him. He apparently hadn’t heard her though, because he smiles at both of them as he approaches. It’s a tired smile, but Steve returns it warmly, glad that he at least looks like he’s feeling better than he had a few minutes ago. Natasha suggests that they return to the ballroom, and by the time they’re back there’s a man on stage speaking about the charities involved in the benefit ball and almost everyone is seated at the tables as they listen. Steve quickly spots Sharon next to Pepper, and he’s relieved to see an open seat next to her. Even though he’d left her, she’d kept him in mind. He owes her big time.

He realizes that he can’t stay with Bucky and Natasha now, but he tells them that he’ll find them later and then heads off to Sharon. She looks over at him as he sits down, and he braces himself for a look, or a comment, or anything to let him know she hadn’t appreciated being left alone. But then she smiles at him and reaches over to gently squeeze his arm, and he lets out the little breath he’d been holding. He catches Pepper’s eye from where she’s sitting next to Sharon, and she winks at him with a little smile. He feels like she might have something to do with Sharon’s good mood, and he makes a mental note to thank her in some way later.

The rest of the night passes smoothly, with the exception of Sharon making him dance. He manages three songs, and she only ends up laughing at him once when he trips and almost falls on her. He catches sight of Bucky and Natasha dancing at one point, and he can’t help but feel impressed at how effortlessly Bucky moves. Natasha is an enviably good dancer as well, and he feels completely inept as he watches them. He’s only glad that they aren’t dancing near him so people don’t start making comparisons.

After they dance, he and Sharon end up spending the rest of the night with Bucky and Natasha, mostly upon Steve’s request. He hasn’t forgotten that he said he’d keep Zola away from Bucky, and he isn’t about to break his promise. It isn’t a chore for him to hang out with Bucky and Natasha either, and Sharon seems to enjoy spending time with them as well. Together they all end up having a fun night, and Steve’s glad that he can relax and laugh after such a tough week. He’s even happier when he sees Bucky doing the same.

When he gets home that night after dropping Sharon off, he’s actually glad that he’d decided to go to the ball. Other than the run-in with Zola, the night had been fun, and he’d gotten to spend a lot of time with Bucky. He hadn’t even seemed to mind Steve’s almost constant presence all night, and Steve feels like they had a chance to get closer. Or, at least he thinks so. He’d like to, that’s for sure. Bucky is definitely someone he sees as a friend now, and he can only hope Bucky feels the same. Steve would be okay if he doesn’t, Bucky seems to be friendly with almost everyone, so it wouldn’t exactly be surprising.

But still…

He isn’t sure when the need to be someone that Bucky feels close to arose, and he feels like it probably isn’t a need he can actually express. Bucky might not even see him as a friend yet, and here Steve is, wanting to protect him and spend time with him and make him laugh. He really can’t remember being drawn to someone like this since he’d first met Peggy. Now though, he can’t help but feel there’s something a little different about it…he doesn’t really know what it is, but for now he decides that it doesn't matter. Right now he just knows that he wants to be there for Bucky. To be a friend, and hopefully for Bucky to be his friend in return.

As he closes his eyes and settles into his bed for the night, he ignores the little surge of doubt that makes him start to wonder if that’s actually what he wants, in favor of slipping into a deep, dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Tony, you are so fun to write. So difficult sometimes, but so fun.
> 
> So this chapter was actually supposed to be longer, but I decided that it had gotten long enough, and it would have taken me even longer to get the chapter out had I written it in, so I'm designating the next chapter to the part that I cut out (it should be plenty long by itself, so no worries about it being too short). Because of that, the next chapter will also be in Steve's POV, but after that everything should follow the pattern that's already been established.
> 
> A lot will happen and something major will be revealed in the next chapter, so I'm really excited to have that for you guys next time! :D
> 
> See you then!


	8. “…I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

“Right there by the exit. Didn’t even make it ten feet.”

“You’re kiddin’.” Bucky grins, glancing over at him before looking back at the road.

“Nope. All over my friend’s shoes.” Steve remembers the look on Peggy’s face after he threw up all over her brand new candy-apple red sneakers when she made him ride The Cyclone back in middle school. He told her he didn’t want to ride it. As far as Steve’s concerned, that one’s all on her.

“They make you buy ‘em a new pair?”

“Nah, she’s the one who made me go. Right after we just ate lunch, too.” Peggy had been pretty persistent, and Steve could never say no to her. She’d flash him that excited grin and Steve knew he wouldn’t like whatever was about to come out of her mouth, but he always ended up going along with the idea anyway.

“ _Jeez_ , she a sadist?”

Steve laughs, shaking his head a little. “Only for me, I think. She always liked to push my buttons.”

Bucky nods sympathetically. “Yeah, I got someone like that, too.”

Steve smiles, leaning his head back against the seat. “Maybe we should start a club.”

He sees Bucky shrug out of the corner of his eye. “Maybe. The ‘Friends-with-ruthless-women club.’”

“Sounds good. I’ll make fliers.”

Bucky laughs, taking a right turn as they drive toward Greymore’s apartment to interview his wife. “’Guess it’s our own fault. Can’t blame ‘em for our bad taste in friends.”

Steve wants to remark that he doesn’t think he has bad taste in friends. That he considers Bucky to be a friend and even if he’s seemed off the past week and he won’t tell Steve when something is wrong and Steve just wants to shake him and tell him to be safe until he listens, Steve hasn’t regretted having him as his partner for a moment. Especially now, when Bucky seems to be feeling better and is smiling a lot more often than he’d been over the past week. It makes the worried knot in his stomach subside, and he feels himself smile more often too. He’d even smiled at the terrible jokes Bucky cracked earlier. He really tried not to think that the reason melons can’t get married is because they “cantaloupe” was funny at all, but his face betrayed him and he’d ended up grinning anyway. He’d retaliated with his own joke about the two satellites that decided to get hitched.

“The wedding wasn’t much, but the reception was incredible!”

Bucky had laughed at that one, and Steve decided then that he could be okay with telling horrible jokes. He had plenty of them on file because Sam liked to tell them, so for a good part of the morning he and Bucky had tried to out-joke each other. He thinks he won, but only thanks to Sam’s influence.

After that they’d left the office to go to Greymore’s and during the drive they’d started sharing random stories. He’d learned that Bucky had broken two bones as a kid, was really athletic in school, and that he’d once ran from the cops when he was dragged out to a party by some friends. He’d been there ten minutes before they showed up, so he hadn’t partaken in any of the booze or marijuana present, but because he was underage and they were around he still ran anyway. He bolted out the back door, over a fence, and into an alleyway where two cops already had three partygoers on the ground. He froze for two seconds and then booked it, and it’s lucky he was in good shape because he outran the officer that chased him and got all the way home without incident. He joked that they obviously needed faster cops, and so that was one reason he’d ended up deciding to join the NYPD.

Steve, for his part, shared a couple of stories about his time as a cop in Brooklyn, and told Bucky a little about Sam. When Bucky asked if he’d ever been to Coney Island, Steve said of course he had, lots of times, then started telling him about the time Peggy made him ride The Cyclone. Now traffic is starting to clear up, and Steve wonders how much longer they’ll get to share stories before they arrive at their destination.

“Nope. But even if she likes to see me suffer sometimes, I wouldn’t trade her for anything,” Steve replies, and he sees the fond little smile Bucky gets on his face.

“Yeah, me too.”

They drive in silence for a moment, until Steve's phone buzzes with a text. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and checks it, immediately seeing that the text is from a new number.

_'How is he this morning?'_

It must be from Natasha. Steve texts her back before saving her number to his phone.

' _He seems better than he was last week.'_ Her reply is quick.

_'Good.'_

He isn't really sure how to reply to that, so instead he looks up, watching as they break free from the slowest of the rush hour traffic.

“So how’s Sharon?”

Steve blinks and looks over at Bucky, a little surprised by the question. He’d almost forgotten that Bucky had met her last night, but he supposes that she tends to make an impression. He slips his phone back in his pocket before answering.

“Oh, uh, she’s good. Busy with work, I think.” Steve looks back at the road, watching as their light turns green.

“I’m not surprised, sounds like bein’ a lawyer is hard work.” Bucky doesn’t look at Steve as he speaks, keeping his eyes on the road in front of them.

“Yeah, it is, from what she’s told me. She’s good at what she does though.”

“She seems like a great gal.” Steve looks at Bucky, trying to read his expression. He’s a little confused by the statement, but then again Sharon _is_ a great person, so he’s probably just stating his opinion.

Steve nods, looking ahead again. “Yeah, she is.”

He doesn’t hear Bucky speak for another moment, and he just watches the streets of New York slowly pass by outside as they drive.

“So you think Greymore’s wife is really okay with talking to us?”

Steve looks ahead again as they come to another stop light. They’ve been stuck in bad traffic for the majority of the drive, and now that they’re finally out of it, they seem to be hitting every red light. What’s worse is that he can’t actually _see_ the lights because of the large moving truck in front of them. They’ve been stuck behind it for blocks now, and Steve is getting a little annoyed at not being able to see anything in front of them. He can only imagine how Bucky feels.

“Yeah, she seemed fine when I checked in with her before we left.” And it’s a good thing they left early to account for traffic, Steve thinks. Otherwise they’d be inconveniencing an already very inconvenienced woman by showing up late.

“Good. God, I should’ve drank more coffee this morning,” Bucky comments, rubbing a hand over his face before giving a yawn.

Steve smiles over at him. “Just try not to yawn during the interview.”

Bucky huffs a laugh. “Won’t make any promises.”

“Well if she kicks us out, I’m blaming you,” Steve replies, shaking his head and giving an internal sigh of relief when they start moving again. They’re scheduled to meet Greymore’s wife in ten minutes, and they’ll still have to find parking once they get there.

“Hey, you can only do that if I yawn, otherwise it’s all on y-“

Steve sees it out of the corner of his eye, and before he can think twice he grabs the steering wheel and turns hard to the left, ignoring Bucky’s shout of protest. They slam into the front of the van that had been driving next to them, and Steve feels his body jolt, but it’s nothing compared to what could have happened had they kept driving forward. He catches the black SUV as it hits the very end of the moving truck trailer, the deafening sound of its impact banging through the air. Breaks squeal as the SUV goes into a spin, and then the area fills with the sound of screeching metal as it turns over and begins to roll. It hits two cars, smashing the front of one that hadn’t stopped in time and hitting the side of another, putting it off course and causing it to run into a newspaper dispenser on the sidewalk, before finally coming to a stop at the other end of the intersection. Steve just sits there for a few seconds, his heart pounding and his whole body buzzing with adrenaline. Then he’s turning to Bucky and grabbing his shoulder.

“Hey, are you okay?”

Bucky is staring at the black SUV, eyes unblinking.

“Bucky! Bucky, hey-“ Steve unbuckles, then leans around Bucky to make sure his head hadn’t slammed into the window next to him. Luckily it seems like they didn’t hit the van hard enough for him to move that much, or maybe he anticipated it, but either way Steve’s glad to see that at least physically, Bucky appears to be fine. As he looks back at him, however, he can see that he isn’t _completely_ fine. His gaze is locked on the SUV, and even as Steve calls his name again and shakes him a little, it doesn’t break.

Steve’s seen this before, and he knows that Bucky is in shock. He also knows that now he’ll need to check on everyone in the other cars and investigate the SUV himself, but a big part of him doesn’t want to leave Bucky alone in this state. He thinks for a moment, and considers getting Bucky out of the car and sitting him down somewhere, but then he wonders if the black SUV was the extent of someone trying to get to them, or if there are people waiting for them to get out of the car so that they can finish the job. It isn’t that crazy of a thought after all, considering all that’s happened in the past. In the span of a few seconds, he decides that Bucky is safest inside the car, and he turns and exits, slamming the door behind him before running to the overturned SUV.

His heart is in his throat as he runs around it, and when he leans down and looks into the window on the driver’s side, he feels like it might actually leap right out and leave him.

He doesn’t know how the driver of the SUV managed to escape, but they’re clearly not there. Steve doesn’t know if maybe they came out of it unscathed, or if they just had minor bumps and bruises, because he can’t see any blood anywhere in the vehicle or around it. Either way, it looks like they climbed out through the window and ran off. He turns to see where they might have gone and notices that a crowd has gathered around. He considers asking one of them if they saw who got out of the SUV, but then he remembers that it had hit other cars while it was crashing, and that he and Bucky hit a van.

His priorities change in an instant, and he scans the crowd quickly before his eyes land on a women talking into her cell phone. He asks if she’s calling 911, and when she nods Steve leaves her to it, running off to one of the cars that had been hit by the SUV. Luckily other people have stepped in to help, and by the time Steve gets to the first car, two people are sitting on the ground next to it. One of them is holding his head while a woman presses what looks to be napkins to the side of it. Steve crouches in front of them, lets them know that he’s with the NYPD and then tells them that an ambulance is on its way. The woman thanks him, sounding relieved, and when Steve asks if they’ll be okay while he checks on the other cars, they both nod.

He makes his way to the other car and discovers that the man driving it is fine and hasn’t sustained any wounds. Then he’s checking on the van, and he immediately feels guilt start to build as he approaches the two people that had been inside. They both appear to be okay, thankfully. The man is checking out the damage to their car while the woman looks around the area, taking everything in with a frightened expression. Steve asks if they’re alright, and they both tell him that they’re fine, that only the front right side of the van had been hit and that neither of them are injured. It had been more of a scare than anything, the woman explains, and Steve apologizes for hitting them. They both shake their heads at him and the man barely lets him finish talking before telling Steve that he’s glad he swerved into them, otherwise they would’ve been right in the way of the black SUV.

“Besides,” he continues, “if you didn’t do what you did, you probably wouldn’t be talking to me right now.”

Steve knows that he’s right, that he and Bucky wouldn’t have faired so well if Steve hadn’t reacted immediately and done what had first come to mind to save them. But still, as an officer it’s his duty and his personal commitment to protect people first and foremost, and he can’t help but feel terrible about putting these people in danger. He assures them that the damage to their car will be paid for, and apologizes again before turning toward the sounds of sirens.

A fire engine pulls up a few seconds later and two firemen hop off and make their way to the man with the head wound. Steve jogs over to a fireman getting supplies from the side of the truck and flashes his badge before explaining the situation. The fireman nods and thanks him, patting him on the arm as he goes to join the other two by the man on the ground. Steve lets them take control of the situation while he runs back over to check on Bucky.

As he makes his way back to the car, he spots the driver of the moving van talking into his cell phone and looking around the area at the other cars before turning to his damaged trailer. Steve doesn’t stop to ask if he’s okay, assuming that he’s probably alright if he’s able to walk around and talk on the phone. Instead, he continues to the passenger side of the car and opens the door.

When he looks in at Bucky, his head is down and he’s staring intently at the steering wheel. His right hand is cradling the upper part of his left arm and he doesn’t move as Steve kneels inside and gently places his hand on his shoulder.

“Bucky…”

He looks over at him finally, but his are eyes out-of-focus and his expression is nothing short of haunted. It takes Steve off-guard for a second, and he feels fear grip him, wondering if Bucky is in the midst of a panic attack. He’d never asked if Bucky suffers from PTSD, it’s never any of his business whether or not a fellow soldier has it, but right now he doesn’t have to. He can see the way Bucky grips the steering wheel, how he’s looking right through Steve, how shallow his breathing is, and he can make the connection.

“…Bucky?” He tries again, voice gentle, and he wonders if Bucky can even hear him, or if he’s being tuned out. He slides his hand over Bucky’s cheek and looks him in the eyes, searching for any sign that he’s aware. “Bucky…look at me…”

His eyes shift, almost imperceptibly, and Steve can tell that he’s actually seeing him now. His expression shifts as well, and he watches as fear and anguish replace the hollow, haunted look that had been present.

“It’s okay Bucky, it’s alright. It’s okay.”

His voice is calm and reassuring, but Bucky still looks terrified, and Steve only hesitates for a moment before unbuckling Bucky’s seatbelt and then reaching over and gently removing Bucky’s hand from the steering wheel, placing it on his shoulder instead. He looks at Bucky again, who avoids looking back at him, but Steve doesn’t mind, as long as he can hear him now.

“I’m going to get you out of here, okay?”

It takes a moment, but Bucky nods, and then Steve’s leaning forward and sliding a hand beneath his knees. He gently pulls him out of the car, Bucky having the sense to hang onto him as he does so, and then he kneels on the ground, sitting Bucky down next to him and letting him lean against the car. He sits beside him, side pressing into his, and tries to figure out the best way to get Bucky out of here. He seems to be at least more aware than he’d been five minutes ago, but Steve can hear the sounds of more sirens approaching, and he knows the stress and chaos of the situation probably isn’t doing anything to help Bucky at this point.

Luckily the next siren that grows close comes from a police car, and it pulls into the intersection before coming to a stop, an officer stepping from the vehicle a moment later. He sees them and makes his way over to them, and Steve takes the opportunity to tell him that they need a ride to the department. He looks around the scene, noting the other police vehicles and the ambulance present, before acquiescing, and then Steve is helping Bucky up and leading him to the police cruiser. After Steve goes back to the car and grabs their things, they leave and make their way back to the department.

Steve and the officer are the only ones who speak during the ride, the officer asking questions and Steve explaining what had happened. He knows it’s pointless, that he’ll be the one who will end up filing the reports later, but he understands the man’s curiosity, and so he recounts what had happened in as much detail as he’s willing to give, only omitting the parts about Bucky and how he suspects someone had been trying to run into them.

When they get back to the department, Steve doesn’t bother with going back to their floor, or even with reporting in. He might get in trouble for it later, but he knows that other officers will be filing their own reports of what had happened, and everyone will end up finding out just what went down eventually. It won’t be a secret that he and Bucky were there, and Steve will most likely get a call from Coulson in the near future, but for now he doesn’t think about that, instead keeping a steady hand on Bucky as they make their way to the parking garage. He unlocks his car and waits for Bucky to get inside before making his way over to the driver’s seat.

Once he’s inside, he wonders if they should go back to his place, before deciding that Bucky’s apartment would probably be ideal if he wants him to feel like he’s in a safe environment. When he looks over to ask where Bucky lives however, he finds him leaning back against the headrest with his eyes shut, an exhausted look on his face. He decides to text Natasha, and she tells him the address but asks why he wants it. Steve hesitates for a moment, before texting back and telling her that he’ll fill her in later, but that for now Bucky just needs to rest because he isn’t feeling well. She asks if she needs to come over at all, and he tells her no, that he’ll stay with him. She thanks him, and he decides not to reply in favor of setting his phone down and looking over at Bucky. He still hasn’t moved, but Steve can tell by the tense way he’s sitting that he isn’t sleeping. Steve starts the car and buckles his seatbelt before looking over his shoulder as he backs out of the parking spot.

* * *

 

When they get to Bucky’s apartment, Steve follows him up and waits for him to open the door before going inside. Bucky didn’t ask how Steve knew where he lived, and he doesn’t say anything when Steve follows him inside and closes the door behind them. Instead, he goes over to his couch and sits, running a hand through his hair before leaning forward and resting his arms on his thighs as he stares at the floor. Steve walks over to him slowly, trying to gauge how he might be feeling at this point.

He’s had to deal with moments of panic and anxiety himself in the past, having gone through his own share of traumatic experiences in the Army, but he’s never been through something quite as intense as what Bucky had seemed to experience earlier. He can’t quite tell where he might be at mentally, physically, or emotionally, and he can’t help but wish Sam were here. Sam has helped a lot of people deal with PTSD during his years working at the VA over in Harlem. He gets an idea then, and he pulls out his phone, sending Sam a text that’s informative but not detailed. When he slips his phone into his pocket, he looks back at Bucky, who still hasn’t moved or shifted his gaze from the rug on the floor.

“Do you want to get changed?” Steve prompts quietly, wondering if maybe getting out of his work clothes will make Bucky more comfortable. Even just taking off his jacket at this point might be helpful to him.

At first he isn’t sure Bucky heard him, but then he slowly gets up and brushes past Steve as he walks toward a hallway, which Steve can only assume leads to his bedroom. He sighs and looks around a little, wondering if he should try and make them something hot to drink, or if Bucky would be uncomfortable with him rummaging around in his apartment. Steve decides to take the risk and he makes his way to the kitchen, which isn’t difficult to find at all since Bucky’s apartment is pretty open-concept and he can see it from the living room.

He finds two mugs easily enough, and he decides to forego boiling water the traditional way in favor of efficiency. He puts water in the mugs and sets them in the microwave, punching a couple of minutes into the timer before starting it. He then goes about trying to find some tea, or even just some lemons to add to the water that’s now being heated.

After sifting through a few of the cupboards, he actually does find some tea. Bucky only has green and ginger, but Steve figures either of them will do. He ends up taking out two of the ginger tea bags and setting them in the mugs once the water is finished heating. When he gets back to the living room Bucky still hasn’t emerged from his bedroom, and at first he hopes that he hasn’t just gone to bed. Then he thinks maybe it would actually be better if he does, since sleep might be what he needs.

He sits down on the couch and places both the steaming mugs on the coffee table in front of him. It’s only then, when he looks around the room a little, that he notices Bucky has a pet.

The black cat peers at him from across the room. It’s sitting next to a cat tree and seems to be examining him with watchful yellow eyes. It doesn’t move, it simply sits there like a statue, and it’s a little unnerving how it seems to just stare at him, unblinking.

Steve doesn’t really think cats are _supposed_ to blink, but then again he wouldn’t know. He’s never had one.

“Uh…hi?” He tries, voice uncertain. Can cats sense that? What if it just thinks he’s dumb now?

The cat keeps staring back at him, and Steve sits there, wondering if he should try calling it over. His pocket vibrates, and he looks down as he gets his phone out and reads over the text Sam sent him.

_‘Does he seem calmer now? If he seems like he’s through it, just try to be there for him. Physical contact is sometimes good, but don’t initiate anything if you don’t know how he’ll respond to it. If he wants to tell you about how he’s feeling he will, otherwise from what you’ve told me about him, I wouldn’t try and make him talk. Just be there with him and offer him support. Also, don’t do anything surprising or that might make him uncomfortable. If you need me you know you can call me.’_

Steve texts back a thank you and that he’ll call him if he doesn’t know what to do, before pocketing his phone. His gaze moves to the two mugs in front of him, and he wonders if he’d done something surprising or that will make Bucky uncomfortable by making them tea.

As he worries over whether or not he should just dump the tea and then ask Bucky if he wants some when he comes back out, he feels something slide against his leg. He manages not to jump, but he does look down in surprise, and he sees the black cat looking back up at him as it rubs against his shin. He smiles back, holding out his hand for the cat to sniff. He isn’t sure if cats need to do that, but he knows that dogs like to, so it probably can’t hurt.

The cat does sniff at his hand before it rubs its cheek against it, and Steve’s smile grows a little wider at the friendly gesture. He assumes that the cat is open to pets and he scratches at its head and ears, softly chuckling at the purring noise the cat starts to make as its eyes close.

Bucky emerges from the hallway, dressed in dark blue sweatpants and a soft-looking dark grey long-sleeve shirt. He glances up in time to see Steve scratching just behind the cat’s ears, getting a tiny smile at the sight. Steve offers a smile in response.

“Hey. Your cat’s pretty friendly.”

Bucky leans down to give the cat a couple pets before going around the coffee table to sit next to Steve.

“Yeah, she’s pretty sweet. Just wants love, mostly.” His eyes land on the two mugs still steaming on the table, and Steve quickly explains.

“Sorry, I thought tea sounded good and when I was making it I figured you might want some too. I didn’t mean to raid your kitchen or anything…” He cringes internally, hoping that Bucky won’t be weirded-out by him going and rummaging around in his kitchen while he’s not around. Bucky just waves him off though, and his little smile is back as he reaches forward and cups the mug in his hands. He closes his eyes as the steam hits his face, and Steve wonders if the smell is relaxing.

“Thanks,” he mumbles, before taking a small sip. It’s probably still hot, but at least it’s had a chance to cool down. He’d probably try his too, if he weren’t still petting this cat. She hops up on the couch next to him, and he leans back so she can walk across his lap. She then sits down like Steve’s lap has always been part of the couch, before staring up at Bucky, who peeks over at her with a fond expression.

“What?” He reaches out and the cat immediately turns into it when he strokes her cheek

“What’s her name?” Steve asks, watching as the cat’s eyes close again at the attention.

“Dorothy,” Bucky replies, taking his hand away so he can wrap it around his mug again. He takes another sip, and Steve is glad that he’d taken the risk and made them tea.

“Dorothy…” Steve thinks over the options in his head before going with the most obvious. “…as in ‘The Wizard of Oz’ Dorothy?”

Bucky nods, looking back over at Dorothy as she enjoys some gentle scratches from Steve. “Yeah. ‘S my favorite movie.”

“Hmm… It’s a good one,” Steve replies, watching Dorothy as she makes herself comfortable in his lap. She steps unsteadily from one of his legs to the other, turning in a circle, before settling down in a ball. Steve stares at her for a moment, unsure of what to do. He’s never been in this predicament before, and as much as he’s honored to have gained her trust, he also realizes that he can’t reach his tea or even go to the bathroom if he needs to.

He’s been friends with this cat for five minutes and now she has him trapped.

He looks over to see Bucky watching him with an expression that looks suspiciously like he’s trying not to laugh.

“Relax. She’s not gonna eat you.”

“I-I know that,” Steve replies defensively, unsure of what to do with his hands now that Dorothy is asleep on him. Does he continue to pet her? What if she doesn’t like that while she’s sleeping? Jackson always likes tummy rubs, regardless of whether he’d been sleeping or not. He’s heard that cats don’t like their tummies rubbed though, so maybe he should steer clear of that. “I just…I haven’t really been around cats before.”

“Really?” Bucky leans back, relaxing against the couch. Steve can tell immediately from how he seems to melt into the cushions how exhausted he is. He wonders if he should offer to go so that Bucky can go to bed, but then he remembers what Sam told him. He decides that he’ll stay until Bucky either kicks him out or goes off to bed. “You have any pets besides Jackson?”

“Nah, he's my only one.” Steve tentatively traces a path from Dorothy’s forehead to the back of her neck, and she doesn’t respond to the touch. She’s most likely asleep. Or ignoring him.

“Hm, makes sense. You seem like a dog guy.” Bucky smirks, taking another drink of his tea, and Steve smiles back at him, amused.

“Oh yeah? What’s ‘a dog guy’?”

Bucky chuckles lightly. “You are. You’re all active and determined. And kind of a dork.”

“What?” Steve starts to lean forward, but then Dorothy shifts in his lap and he carefully settles back against the cushions. “Dogs aren’t dorks,” he argues, though his smile doesn’t leave his lips.

“I’ve met a lotta dogs. All of ‘em have been dorks.”

“And cats aren’t?”

Bucky shakes his head. “What do you know about cats? You just said you haven’t really been around cats before.”

“Well…I haven’t, but...I’ve met dogs that are pretty smart,” he rebuffs weakly, mostly fishing for a good argument at this point.

“Oh I never said dogs aren’t smart. Just said they’re dorks.” Bucky grins at him, and Steve can’t help it when he grins back, and then laughs. Bucky laughs a little too, looking back down into his tea.

It’s quiet for a moment, and Steve strokes Dorothy’s soft fur as gently as he can, trying not to wake her. He watches her stomach rise and fall with each soft breath, and he finds that it’s relaxing to just observe the rhythm.

“I haven’t done that in a while y’know.” Bucky’s voice is low, almost timid, and he doesn’t look over at Steve as he speaks, his gaze still locked down at his tea. “I mean, I get panicked sometimes…and I have these nightmares every once in a while. But…”

Steve stays quiet, letting Bucky take his time.

“I haven’t been through something that brought me back like that in…” He shakes his head, leaning forward again, forearms resting on his thighs as he sits and lightly runs his fingers over the ceramic mug in his hands. “Guess it doesn’t matter how much time has passed, or how far away I am.”

Steve sits there, unsure of what to say. He has his share of bad memories from the war, but what Bucky is describing is something that goes deeper than he knows. He only wishes he knew what to say, some magic word that would help him feel better and forget whatever it is he’s trying to escape.

Bucky takes a deep breath, and then slowly releases it. His fingers trace the rim of his mug, and Steve wonders what expression is on his face right now.

“It was about five years ago now. I try not to think about it, but…” There’s a heavy pause before Bucky speaks again. “You lose anyone?” He looks over at Steve, and Steve knows what Bucky is really asking. He isn’t asking about Steve’s mam or his dad, or any of his relatives. He’s asking about people he’d lost during the war. Steve nods, looking down at Dorothy as different faces float through his mind.

“Yeah. Some good people.” His voice is low and quiet like Bucky’s, and he knows they’re afraid of speaking too loud because it’s already too heavy and deafening in both of their minds. Bucky nods and looks back down at his mug.

“I’ve only ever talked about it with two people…my therapist, and…” He pauses for a short moment, inclining his head toward Steve. “But neither of them were _there_ y’know?”

Steve nods, even though Bucky can’t see it. “Well…” he pauses, waiting for Bucky to look over at him. “…I’m not goin’ anywhere.” He raises his hands and looks down at his lap, and Bucky grins a little and gives a laugh as he looks at Dorothy, totally comfortable on Steve’s legs.

He shakes his head and looks forward. “Nah, I guess you’re not.” His smile slowly fades, and he takes a sip of his tea. The silence stretches on, but Steve doesn’t push. He lets himself relax against the cushions, waiting patiently while Bucky seems to collect his thoughts.

“We were close. I met ‘im during my first tour, and at first we were so competitive with each other, people thought we hated each other’s guts.” He cracks a smile that Steve’s able to see from where he sits, and Steve feels himself smile a little at the fond memory, even if he can’t see it as it plays out in Bucky’s mind. “But we got a kick outta each other. He was one of the most obnoxious guys I ever met, and he said I annoyed him worse than his little sister. We got to be friends…we helped each other out. Looked out for each other.” Bucky swallows, fingers tightening on his mug. “He was the best friend I had over there. He was like my brother.”

Bucky goes quiet for a little bit, head lowering, and Steve continues to stay silent, letting him sort through his memories and collect himself.

“We were out in Fallujah, we knew that other areas in the city were hot, but they weren’t supposed to be where we were. Of course…” Bucky shakes his head before continuing. “We got ambushed…a sniper took out one our guys on the IFV, and then there were more gunshots, and we all dove for cover. They had an RPG and we had to get off the street and into the buildings. My buddy and I were pinned down though, behind a truck. He was wounded, got hit in his leg, and I was trying to think of a way to get us out.” Bucky’s fingers shake lightly against the cup, and he tightens his grip. “We were there for a good two minutes, I took out a couple of guys, but there were a lot of ‘em, and our guys couldn’t get a good shot on the sniper. We were stranded.” He swallows harshly, taking a minute before he speaks again. “I told him I’d carry him out if I had to. I knew he couldn’t walk, so I woulda done whatever I had to, but…he…” Bucky shakes his head again as his voice breaks, and Steve desperately wants to console him, but he manages to refrain for now, letting Bucky get everything out. “He just looked at me, and smiled. Then he told me to get the fuck outta there, and he was gone. He just got up and moved before I could catch him. He got three steps in before they took him out and then when he went down…I couldn’t even move.”

He’s quiet for a long moment, and Steve wonders if he’s reliving the memory, watching it unfold before his eyes again like a bad daydream. “It was so stupid…so fucking dumb,” he finally says, voice a quiet murmur. He sniffs, and Steve doesn’t know if he’s crying or he’s trying to hold back tears. “I couldn’t even move when he told me to…then the RPG hit, and I went flying. I just remember layin’ there, and staring up at the sky and wishing everything was a dream. Then I blacked out, and when I woke up…” He laughs, a hollow, morbid thing, “…when I woke up they told me I was gonna go home.”

Everything’s silent for a long time after that, and Bucky sips his tea, which Steve is sure must be getting cold by now. He waits for him to speak again, as long as it takes.

“They told me I could go home. So I did…”

Steve can imagine the unspoken words that are meant to finish Bucky’s sentence. _“…but he didn’t.”_

He watches Bucky for a little bit longer, letting him have a quiet moment to collect himself and come back to the present. He knows what he _wants_ to say to Bucky right now. That it hadn’t been his fault. That it was his friend’s choice and there was nothing he could have done. None of it seems like something _he_ would want to hear though. He’d watched people go down before, and even though there really was nothing he could do, he still couldn’t help but think _what if_ … What if he’d seen it coming. What if he’d looked out for that person better. What if what if what if…

He’s come to terms now with the fact that he’d seen solders die in battle, but he’d saved soldiers too. If there was something that could have been done to save those lives that were lost Steve would have done it. It had taken him years to make himself think that way, and even now he feels doubt, all the time. But it’s something he carries with the thought that he can remember those people, and even though they might be gone now they won’t be forgotten. It’s all he can do.

“What was his name?”

This man that Bucky had been so close to deserves to be remembered as he was, and Steve wants to know him.

Bucky glances over at him, looking a little surprised. Maybe he hadn’t been expecting Steve to ask.

“Dugan. He was a corporal in my unit.”

A familiar face suddenly flashes through his mind. There were probably a lot of Dugans in the military, so it really could be a coincidence, but…

“Timothy Dugan?”

Bucky’s brows draw together and his eyes widen before an expression akin to understanding slowly changes his features as he looks at Steve. “You knew him.” It isn’t a question, and Steve waits for Bucky to continue. “When you asked me if anyone yelled at me the other day, I thought…I thought it might’ve just been a coincidence, but…” Bucky’s eyes change to a look of mild concern as he watches him. “Did you know?”

Steve’s mouth, which had been opened slightly with the shock of learning that Bucky had known Dugan, and that he’d… It closes, and Steve shakes his head a little. “No.”

Bucky looks down. “Sorry you had to find out that way.” His voice is quiet and Steve can clearly hear the regret in his tone. It makes him get over his surprise quickly.

“It’s…he was a good guy.” He looks at Bucky earnestly, and when Bucky’s eyes meet his he manages a little smile, even though Steve can tell there’s nothing behind it.

“Yeah….how did you-?”

“I met him in Afghanistan during the start of my second tour. I was leading a rescue mission, and he was one of the soldiers we got out.”

Bucky nods a little, and then he gets another tiny smile, and Steve thinks this one actually looks authentic. “So when did you hear it?”

Steve chuckles lightly. “He said it to a private who was complaining about being hungry on our way back to the extraction point. Called him ‘cheese-for-brains’.”

Bucky actually laughs at that, and Steve can’t help but smile in response. “Yeah, heard that one a few times too.” He looks at Steve with a skeptical expression then, one of his brows slightly raised. “Did he ask if anyone yelled at you?”

He doesn’t even have to think before he shakes his head and replies. “No. He actually told me I needed to be the one doing the yelling.”

Bucky hums before smiling a little. "Sounds about right."

"Why's that?" Steve asks, a little curious now. Bucky just shrugs, before looking at him with an odd expression. "What?"

“Dum Dum told me he’d only ever met four people who didn’t need to be yelled at once in a while.” Bucky holds out a hand as he lists them off. “His mother, his high school football coach, a comms specialist he met during his first tour, and ‘some blond army sergeant who’ll prob’ly win this whole damn war.’”

Steve laughs at that, partly in disbelief and partly in embarrassment. "He's right, I was a sergeant when we met. But he was wrong about the last part.”

Bucky shrugs. “Well, you’re back here helping me win _this_ war, so that’s gotta count for somethin’, right?”

He makes a thoughtful face. “Yeah, I guess…if by _‘helping’_ you mean doing most of the work…”

Bucky shoves his shoulder playfully, a grin on his face. “You’re a punk.”

“So, he didn’t tell you that you didn’t need to be yelled at?” Steve asks, curious.

His reply is a laugh that Bucky gives as if Steve had just told some hilarious joke. “You kiddin’? He probably told me that the most. I bugged the crap out of ‘im.”

“Seems like he was fond of you,” Steve replies, watching as Bucky looks down with a sentimental smile.

“Yeah. He was.”

When Steve realizes Bucky’s going quiet again, he speaks up. “Y’know, he must’ve been one of the most hard-headed people I ever met. He spoke his mind a lot. I figure there’s probably not a whole lot you could tell him to do.” Even for a guy in the army, Dugan had been stubborn and choosy about who he openly respected. Over his short time with him, Steve had heard him bad-mouth more than a few of their commanders, and even though Steve didn’t entirely appreciate his lack of respect, he sometimes found himself laughing privately later at some of Dugan’s nicknames for them.

“Yeah, he was kind of bull-headed. Didn’t wanna change his mind once he made it up.” Bucky’s voice is soft and a little considering. Steve wonders if Bucky is taking his words and thinking about when Dugan left him there behind that truck. If Dugan wanted to save Bucky with his last breath, then Steve is sure that’s what he would have done, whether or not Bucky had tried to stop him. He knows that he can’t tell Bucky that it wasn’t his fault, because he’d never listen. But maybe thinking about how determined Dugan was to help him and remembering him as he was would help Bucky think about the situation differently in some small way. Steve might not be able to get rid of the memories or grief or self-blame Bucky has, but if he can get him to open up and share a little more, then Steve will be happy to take some of those burdens.

“Your tea’s probably cold now.” Steve looks up from his thoughts, eyes landing on his mug of tea. He’d completely forgotten about it.

He gives an uncaring grunt. “It’s alright. I can just make some when I get home.”

Bucky leans back against the cushions again, yawning. “What kind of tea you got at home? Are you an hebal kinda guy? Some hipster tea I don’t know about maybe?” His smile is teasing, and Steve finds that it coaxes a smile of his own onto his lips.

“Well at least I don’t just keep tea around for hangovers,” Steve retorts, recalling the fact that the only teas Bucky appeared to have in his cupboard were well-known for curing the negative effects of the mornings after nights of too much booze.

Bucky laughs a little, though it’s a tired one, and when he speaks again Steve picks up on the exhaustion in his voice. “Yeah, well at least _I_ let loose once in a while.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? You think I don’t let loose?” Steve is really only mildly offended. It’s something he’s heard often enough, and he’s grown some skin so he doesn’t take it so personally anymore.

Bucky chuckles softly, eyes regarding him as playfully as they can in his sleepy state. “I think you could be less-serious sometimes. But I have fun with you.”

His lips quirk at the admission, and he feels an odd yet pleasant feeling run through him, one makes him feel lighter. “Yeah?”

“Mm…” Bucky’s eyes start to drift shut, but he catches it, although when he looks at Steve again his gaze is slightly unfocused. He wonders how long it’s going to be until Bucky's out. He's willing to bet it won't be long at all, judging by how tired Bucky had looked earlier. “I think you can be a fun guy. Not as fun as _me_ obviously…” Steve laughs, and Bucky’s smile grows a little.

“Obviously,” Steve replies, looking critically at his couch-mate who’s struggling not to pass out at this point.

“’S’okay though. World needs people like you.” Bucky's eyes start to drift shut again, and this time he doesn't seem to have the energy to stop them.

Steve raises a brow. “People like me?”

“Mm-hmm,” Bucky nods slowly, still fighting an already lost battle against his exhaustion. “People who’ll work hard…’n take stuff seriously…”

“That so?” he replies, voice quiet as he waits for inevitable.

"Yeah...'s so..."

Steve waits a moment, simply watching Bucky as his breathing deepens and his mouth parts slightly.

"Bucky?" He whispers, knowing he won’t get a response. Shaking his head, he smiles down at Dorothy, who’s still asleep on his lap. “Guess I’m the only one around here who can make it past…” he checks his watch. “…seven-thirty.”

He sighs a little, looking between Bucky and Dorothy. He frowns apologetically as he gently nudges her. “C’mon Dorothy…I need my legs now….”

She meows at him softly, and he feels terrible for making her move, but if he doesn’t he’ll end up falling asleep here too, and he can only imagine the kink in his neck he’ll end up with if that happens. So he gently lifts her and carries her down the hall, relieved when she doesn’t try to get away. He walks toward the first closed door he comes upon, and opens it to find a bedroom. It’s almost definitely Bucky’s unless he has a roommate. Or, he supposes, a heavy feeling settling into his gut as he remembers, if he shares the apartment with Natasha. Although he doesn’t see anything in particular that stands out as maybe belonging to her as he walks toward the bed and gently sets Dorothy down. Maybe they’re not at that point in their relationship yet.

He feels a little weird thinking about the status of the relationship between Bucky and Natasha, so he pushes those thoughts out of his mind as he pulls back the covers on Bucky’s bed and then returns to the living room. Bucky is still where he left him, sleeping soundly on the couch. His face looks so much more peaceful than it had earlier, after the crash and when he’d been talking about Dugan. Steve really hopes that maybe tonight he’ll be able to get some restful sleep.

He stands next to him, hands on his hips as he contemplates his next move. He could wake him up, and tell him that his bed would probably be the comfiest place for him. Or he could just get him awake enough to help him to bed, he’d probably be able to guide a sleepy Bucky down the hall and make sure he gets there okay. Or…

He really hopes Bucky isn’t a light sleeper.

Bending down, he slides hid arms under Bucky’s knees and shoulders, then gently lifts. It’s actually not too different than it had been earlier in the day, when he’d had to maneuver him out of the car in almost the same manner. The only difference now is that Bucky’s asleep and his weight is resting completely in Steve’s arms. Earlier Bucky had been able to help with that a little, but now it’s up to Steve as Bucky clearly has more important things to be doing (or dreaming), and he doesn’t stir at all as Steve lifts him.

He carries him down the hall and then sets him down carefully on the bed, pulling the covers over him after. Steve is thankful that Dorothy had stayed on Bucky’s bed while he’d been out of the room. Now she’s giving herself a bath at the end of the bed, but Steve hopes maybe she’ll decide to cuddle up to Bucky so he’ll wake up to her there. He knows that he always likes waking up to Jackson sleeping next to him, his head on Steve’s stomach, or his paw thrown over Steve’s arm. He kind of regrets buying that dog bed. He should’ve listened to Sharon when she said he’d never end up using it.

Steve goes back out into the hallway, closing the door behind him. When he returns to the living room, he grabs his phone and decides to text Sam. It’s nearing eight, but he should be on his way home if he isn’t already. He feels bad for having to ask a favor on such late-notice, but he doesn’t really want to leave Bucky alone. He seems a lot better now, but Steve would feel like he’s just abandoning him if he leaves. Bucky probably doesn’t expect him to stay, and he’d probably understand it if Steve went home, but Steve thinks of how worried over Bucky he’d been all last week and he can’t find it in himself to go. He doesn’t know if Bucky would feel any better waking up to find that he’d stayed, but Steve knows that _he’ll_ certainly feel better. And if Bucky doesn’t want him to stick around, then he won’t. So much has happened lately though, and Steve thinks that maybe Bucky won’t mind if he just stays until he wakes up and Steve knows that he’s okay. Steve meant it when he said they need to look out for each other now, and what happened today just makes him that much more sure of that.

He notices that he has a missed call from work, and he knows immediately that it’s Coulson. He doesn’t know how he’d missed it buzzing in his jacket pocket earlier, but he’s glad that he had. Still, now he really needs to call him back...

Maybe after he texts Sam.

' _Hey, sorry to ask, but do you think you could run to my place and just let Jackson out to go to the bathroom? He might need food too, but he should have water.’_

He sits down and examines his tea. It’s freezing. He can always re-heat it though, he doubts Bucky will wake up to the sound of the microwave.

His phone vibrates with Sam’s reply.

_‘Got you covered. Don’t worry about it.’_

Steve smiles.

_‘Thank you. You’re a lifesaver.’_

_‘Sure man. And remember that the next time I drag you out to karaoke.’_

Steve groans a little and shakes his head, but his smile doesn’t fade. He always ends up going out with Sam to karaoke when he asks (even though he doesn’t know _why_ he asks, Steve can’t sing to save his life), but he knows that now he’s lost his right to complain about it. It’s a small price to pay though, he thinks.

He decides to bite the bullet then and call Coulson, unsurprised when he picks up. He probably set his work number to be directed to his cell phone.

Coulson actually sounds like an upset mother at first, and Steve can’t say that he can fault him for that. He _had_ left the scene of a car crash, kidnapped Bucky without saying anything to anyone, and then disappeared for the evening without filing a report of the crash or even just letting someone know that he and Bucky were okay. Of course, the officer that had taken them back to the department let dispatch know what he was doing at the time, so at least Coulson had to know they were safe. That doesn’t seem to be good enough for him, however, and Steve lets him talk about how disappointed and upset he is that Steve hadn’t come back and told him what had happened.

When Steve informs him about Bucky’s need to go straight home though, his tune starts to change. Steve tells him that Bucky had been stressed out and upset, although he tries not to elaborate more than that, even when Coulson tries to get more information out of him. It would probably benefit he and Bucky in the long run to just tell Coulson about Bucky’s panic attack, but he’d rather not reveal something that may be very personal. He really doesn’t have the right to tell Coulson that much anyway, he figures, and if Bucky wants to tell him about it later, then that will be his choice. In the meantime, Steve would rather not make it for him.

Coulson seems a little frustrated at the fact that Steve won’t discuss what happened with Bucky in more depth, but Steve thinks that Coulson is eventually able to make the connection and presume what had happened himself, because by the end of the conversation his tone is calmer and more gentle.

“Even just a phone call next time, Steve.”

“I know,” Steve replies, and Coulson tell him that he better see them both in his office in the morning, but it ends up sounding more concerned than threatening. Steve hangs up feeling like it could have gone a lot worse. Although he supposes it still could, if Fury finds out about what he’d done.

He decides not to think about that right now.

He sets his phone down and then goes about re-heating his tea. When he returns to the living room he spots a bookshelf on the far wall, and he finds himself strolling over to it as he sips his drink. His eyes run over the titles, and he smiles when he spots _The Hound of the Baskervilles_. He wonders if Bucky’s had the book for a while, or if he’d only bought it after being promoted. By the looks of it, it’s a pretty old copy, but that doesn’t mean he couldn’t have gotten it used from a bookstore.

Steve pulls it out from the shelf and takes his shoes and jacket off before sitting himself down on the couch and beginning to read.

It’s going on midnight when Steve finishes the book, and he finds himself feeling as exhausted as had Bucky looked as he sets it down on the table. His tea has long been finished, and although he feels pretty hungry at this point, he decides to draw the line at snooping around for food. He’d only gotten the tea because he thought Bucky might like some, he’s not about to steal his food, too.

Instead, he lays back on the couch and switches off the lamp he’d been using to read. It doesn’t take him long to doze off, and when he does he dreams of giant demonic hounds and car crashes and explosions in the sand. But when he thinks things are about to turn for the worst, the dream becomes sweeter. He dreams of a black cat’s kind yellow eyes, and the smell and taste of hot ginger tea. He dreams of the sound of Bucky’s laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be in Bucky's POV again, so this should hopefully be the last chapter that shared the same person's POV as the previous chapter. Also! This story is now at about the halfway point! So thank you for sticking with me this far! (Or if you've just started reading or are reading this in the future when other chapters have come out, hi! I hope you enjoy the rest of the story!) 
> 
> Also- I may or may not have seriously considered the idea for a firefighter AU after writing about the firemen. And by "seriously considered" I mean "plotted out the entire fic."  
> So if firefighting!Stucky is something you'd like to see in the future, let me know!
> 
> I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter (I'm sorry for the emotional roller coaster), and I'll see you all again in the next one! :)


	9. “Letters.”

**B** ucky breathes in deeply as his mind slowly crawls back to consciousness. A warm weight is present on his legs, and he knows without looking that Dorothy is sleeping there. He wishes he didn’t have to wake her, but he’s pretty sure he has to go into work today. His mind slowly dredges up what day it is, and with some effort he recalls that yesterday had been Sunday, which means that today is unfortunately Monday. Cracking an eye open, he looks over to his alarm clock on the nightstand, and is relieved to see that it’s only five o’clock. Well, at least he definitely won't be late.

He groans a little, shutting his eyes once more. The light pressure and pain of a headache stirs in his temples, and he throws an arm over his eyes, wishing that he hadn’t gotten so much sleep. He knows his headache can partly be attributed to the stress of yesterday, but he also knows he hasn’t really slept well in quite some time. Sleeping so much last night is probably a good thing, but he’s definitely feeling the residual effects of a little _too_ much sleep right now. He can’t remember what time he fell asleep, but it can’t have been too late when he’d passed out on the couch.

He’d passed out on the couch.

He sits up a little, looking down at Dorothy, and then around his room, trying to work out how he'd ended up here. He's pretty sure he hadn't just imagined falling asleep in the living room, but then he doesn’t remember getting up to go to his room. It could have been that he’d been mostly asleep when he decided to move to his bed. He’s never sleep-walked before, but he supposes there’s a first time for everything.

Slowly, he shifts his legs beneath the covers, smiling a little when Dorothy lets out a soft meow and refuses to move.

“Sorry, Dorth…I gotta get up.” He shifts again, and she raises her head to look around the room a little before getting up and stretching languidly. She sits down on his legs to lick at her paw and Bucky rolls his eyes. “C’mon, you can take a bath on the bed,” he tells her, moving his legs a little more until she has to stop and get off of them before she falls over. He takes the opportunity to toss back his sheets and get up, stretching a little and cracking his back when he does. He rolls his head and cracks his neck, too, before giving a yawn and padding off toward his bedroom door as he stretches his arms in the air.

Although he's feeling the effects of suddenly getting more sleep than he has in the past week or so, he suspects that his body needed it. He can take care of his headache easily enough anyway, and he grabs some aspirin from the bathroom before popping a couple in his mouth and washing it down with water from the tap. He uses some of the water to wash his face too, and his eyes take in his appearance as he pats his face dry. His cheeks and eyes are slightly puffy, but that probably be attributed to the fact he's just woken up. He takes note of how the dark circles under his eyes have lightened up a little, and he feels some relief at that, because as much as he’d ignored them all last week he knows that they were getting prominent, and that other people might take notice.

Sighing as he sets the towel down, he runs a hand over his face, deciding that even after everything that had happened yesterday, he still looks better than he had at the end of last week. He knows he can’t really contribute that to himself, though.

The thought that Steve had seen a side to him not many people have experienced before is scary and honestly makes him feel vulnerable. It’s one thing for Natasha to comfort him, she’s known him his whole life, and he has a feeling there isn’t much he can hide from her. But he hadn’t _tried_ to hide with Steve. Yesterday he’d told him something so personal, something not even his family knows, and afterwards he’d felt…lighter. But he'd also been apprehensive.

He feels that fear come back to him now, mixed with a bit of regret, because as much as he likes Steve and wants to be close to him…he’s not so sure that opening up to him was the best thing. He just doesn’t _do_ that, because what he has to deal with…the feelings and memories that he has…they’re all his own, and he doesn’t know if he’s ready to share them with anyone. Or what will happen if he does.

He turns and leaves the bathroom, making his way toward the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. It's badly needed, with how groggy his mind still feels. As he walks through the living area, he glances over at the couch, the sight there making him stop in his tracks.

Steve is laying there asleep, one arm strewn above his head while the other lays partially by his side, his forearm and hand resting on his stomach. He notices the hand rising and falling with every breath Steve takes, and that he’s still in his work clothes from yesterday. He feels a little twinge of guilt for not offering him some comfortable clothes to sleep in; then remembers that he hadn’t even invited him to stay. The last thing he remembers, in fact, is falling asleep on the very couch Steve is now sleeping on. It isn’t difficult for him to put the pieces together.

At first, he feels relief and appreciation over the fact that Steve had decided to stay. The only reason Bucky can think he would do that is to make sure that he’s okay, and it makes something in him like Steve about fifty times more than he already had. Immediately after feeling this way, however, his fear returns with a vengeance.

Steve stayed the night. Bucky had confessed something so personal to him, had poured his heart out to him, and had been comforted and made to feel better, and then Steve stayed the whole night. The only other person who'd ever done that in the past is Natasha, and the fact that Steve has now done the same makes Bucky realize that he’d opened up to him in the same way he's opened up to his closest friend in the past. The feeling he gets at the thought is one that leaves him feeling vulnerable, and it isn’t a comfortable feeling. It isn’t even a bad feeling. It’s a _terrifying_ feeling.

Bucky stares at Steve, realizing that he’s really let someone in. Someone that isn’t Natasha or a man sitting across from him with a clipboard, taking notes on everything he says. Last night, he’d felt lighter. It had been freeing to share some of what has been haunting his mind for years. But now…

Regret crawls through him slowly, building until he has to look away from Steve so he can pretend he still has his walls. That he isn’t feeling the cracks that are beginning to slowly make their way up over them, thin and spindly and threatening to break him open completely, leaving him exposed for the world to see.

He doesn’t want to lose that armor, not now, when he’s so carefully built it up over the years. When he came back from Iraq he’d felt so raw and hopeless. He’d felt guilty and useless and like the whole world didn’t have any colors or sights or smells. Or at least he hadn’t experienced them anymore.

His therapist told him that it might take years for him to heal completely. Bucky stopped going to see him after three months. He wanted to be better, so he forced himself to be. He didn’t deserve to mope and feel terrible and cold, so _cold_ all of the time. Dugan wouldn’t have done that. Dugan didn’t have the chance to come home and feel bad and then get better. Dugan was gone.

So Bucky finally shaved and cut his hair and took care of himself. He put on a smile and laughed at things and went to family dinners. He didn’t tell anyone what happened, so they all believed he was getting better. Except Natasha. He opened up to Natasha, because he knew that he had to. She would be able to tell how he was feeling because half the time she always knew what he was feeling before he knew himself. She knew how he operated, and he knew he couldn’t keep something that hurt him so badly from her. She had known him for too long. So he opened up to her, because he knew she would take it as a sign he was healing. He actually did feel a little better afterward, too. But she’d never lost anyone that way, and she hadn’t been over there. She hadn’t seen what happened or known Dugan or experienced what it was like to see someone die like that. So he wasn’t surprised when she tried to convince him that it wasn’t his fault. His therapist had been trying to tell him the same thing.

They couldn’t know though…they couldn’t. They couldn’t know that Bucky had been the best sniper their unit had, and he had covered them multiple times before that day. If he’d been more observant, he could have taken out whoever shot Dugan in the leg and they never would have been trapped behind that truck. If he’d been faster he could have stopped Dugan before he ran out into the line of fire like that. If he’d done _something_ different, Dugan might still be alive. And Bucky could never think any differently. The only thing he could do was _not_ think about it.

So he didn’t. And when he did he would feel that guilt and anger and sadness, but he would soon push it from his mind. He acted like he was feeling better so other people would stop worrying about him. He wasn’t something to take pity on. He could be better on his own, or at least he could pretend to be. He didn’t need help from anyone and he certainly didn’t want it. All he wanted was for the people in his life to stop giving him those sympathetic looks, and to adjust to society again and not think about what happened.

For a while, he actually thought he _was_ getting better. He was doing things he hadn’t done in a long time, like exercising and eating more and talking to people and taking care of himself. Sure, sometimes he would have to force himself to do it, but when he threw himself into something he could focus his mind on that and he’d forget about how much everything hurt when his mind wandered into unwanted territory. He could never stop the nightmares or the sudden flashbacks or the panic attacks. But he could pretend to be okay afterward, at least. It was all he needed.

Or so he thought, until he met Steve.

Now he feels it. Something in him breaking from sharing that memory that had been haunting him, weighing him down for years. In that moment he’d felt comfortable, he knew Steve had seen how he was after the crash and he thought Steve might understand. And he _did_ understand, he _knew_ Dugan, even. That had been a shock, one that Bucky still isn’t sure that he’s over. But in that moment, he’d felt connected to Dugan again. The fact that Steve was able to talk to him about Dugan was something that brought who Dugan _was_ back to the forefront of his mind. He was reminded of how Dugan had been before the day he died. It made him think of how he might have felt just before he left Bucky there and ran out to meet his fate, and now when he thinks of Dugan, his mind doesn’t go to seeing him fall in the sand. It goes to that moment he’d smiled at him, all determined and fond and Bucky can barely remember the fear in his eyes. It’d been there, of course, and Bucky had held onto the fact that Dugan had been afraid since he moment he’d seen it there. But now he remembers his look of acceptance, and his conviction. He was going to save Bucky if it was the last thing he did, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. Bucky can still think of a million things he could have done to save him, but ultimately, it’s not what Dugan wanted in that moment. He’d wanted to save Bucky.

And Bucky had hated him for it.

He’d come home and yelled and screamed at nothing and asked _“why?”_ He’d hated himself, too, and the fact that he hadn’t done enough to save him. He’d taken everything out on himself until he absolutely had to stop. And then he’d buried everything. All of his guilt, and rage, and disappointment, and grief. It had all been churning deep within him all this time, and every time it had tried to make an appearance Bucky just shoved it back down to the recesses of his mind. The only time it could show up was while he was sleeping. Then he was at its mercy. Bucky still just skips sleeping altogether some nights just so he can avoid the nightmares.

But last night, he hadn’t had any. He doesn’t know if it’s the fact that Steve had known Dugan personally, or the fact that Steve had been over there too and had lost people. He doesn’t know if it’s because they’ve grown so close so quickly and Bucky considers him a friend after just a couple of weeks, or if it’s because Bucky had been vulnerable in front of him and Steve had proven himself by being there for him and staying with him. He doesn’t know _why_ , but telling Steve about what had happened in Iraq five years ago brought Bucky so much _relief_. Something had shifted, like a weight slowly lifting from his shoulders. It was abrupt and scary and it took Bucky by surprise. He’s still feeling all of those things, even now. He’s still feeling exposed.

He turns his back to Steve, not wanting to look at him anymore. If he does he’ll just be reminded of what he’d done last night. He can imagine Natasha or his old therapist telling him that it had been a good thing, and that they’re proud of him for opening up. But he can’t be proud of himself. Telling Steve everything had been a step in a direction he isn’t ready to head down yet. It had been a step toward moving on. But Bucky can’t move on. He doesn’t deserve to.

Moving away from the living room, he takes a few steps toward the kitchen, now determined to start that coffee and do something to occupy his mind. He could start a pot, and then take a shower. Maybe the hot water and routine of it would clear his mind. Or he could start some breakfast. He would have to make some for Steve, too, and that’s okay. He isn’t one-hundred-percent alright with him being here right now, but he also realizes that Steve is just trying to be here for him, and he knows that Steve only thinks he’s doing good. He’s not going to go and be a dick about it. He can’t be mad at Steve when he’s done nothing but try and help Bucky. Talking to him last night had been his own fault, and Bucky can appreciate everything else he’s done for him.

So maybe breakfast for both of them would be good. He can just focus on cooking, keep his mind off of-

He stops, staring at the letter in front of his door.

_Sergeant Barnes_

His heart picks up its pace, the sight of the simple envelope rooting him to the spot.

_I have been watching you_

He almost doesn’t understand it. He hasn’t gotten a letter since Friday…after two days of nothing, he was hoping they might have just stopped, but…

_You are putting your life in danger_

…but he should have known better.

He moves forward slowly, bending down and taking the letter into a shaky hand. He carefully turns it over, and sees the familiar red symbol stamped into the back. It isn’t a surprise, of course. He’d been expecting it the moment he’d seen the letter sitting there in front of the door.

Swallowing harshly, he looks over his shoulder at his guest, as if Steve had somehow sensed what’s happening and suddenly woke up. He hadn’t, of course. He’s still sleeping peacefully on the couch in the same position as before, oblivious to Bucky’s inner turmoil.

Bucky enters the kitchen, staring back down at the letter as he walks. He isn’t sure if he wants to read it right now. Well, he’d rather not read it _ever_ , but he knows that’s not going to happen. He can’t stop himself from reading them, he knows. He’s tried. And every time he leaves the letter alone, he ends up ripping it open not ten minutes later, the not knowing what could be written inside killing him. It _shouldn’t_ , he knows, because every time he reads the letter he regrets it. The words always manage to shake him to the core, and leave him feeling weak and angry and nauseous all at once. He doesn’t know who’s writing the letters, but it’s as if they’re in the room with him whenever he reads them. It’s like they’re hovering above him, grinning at him while his hands start to shake and his jaw clenches. It’s like they’re laughing at him when he abruptly gets up and shoves the letter into the drawer he’d kept the first one in. He’d just been adding to his collection as the week had gone on, and now he has another piece of sick, twisted writing to include.

He doesn’t think it would be a good idea to read the letter while Steve is here. He doesn’t want the other man waking up and walking in on him as he sits on the floor with the letter clutched in his hands, probably looking like he’s just witnessed something absolutely horrific. So he takes the letter to the same drawer, planning on tossing it inside and reading over it later when Steve isn’t here. He can take reading these letters, even if they always wreck him for a little while afterward. He knows he can handle them. Now though, he wonders if there might be anything about the attempt on his and Steve’s lives in any of them. He doesn’t remember reading anything that could have pointed to it specifically. There had been things that had sounded threatening, sure, but he can’t recall if anything would have foreshadowed the crash.

He decides that, as much as he doesn’t want to, he’ll have to read through them all later. He can get over the way the words always cut him, and dig for evidence. He can do that much, at least. He has to try.

So he steels himself as he opens the drawer, knowing that he’s going to have to re-read all of the letters he’s about to see. Except…

Except they’re not there.

 _What the hell?_ Bucky feels panic spike within him as he sifts through the drawer, his efforts not producing anything. He moves to the next drawer down, even though he knows it isn’t the right one. It isn’t the place he’d been keeping the letters, but then he’s been a little out of it lately, so maybe he’d moved them?

The drawer produces nothing, and neither does the drawer he checks after that or the cupboard next to them or the cabinet he keeps his drinking glasses in or the cabinet with his bowls and plates. He doesn’t realize how much noise he’s making in his frenzy to find the missing letters, the sounds of him slamming cabinets and drawers and digging around their contents permeating the previously silent apartment.

If he weren’t so panicked and focused on one thing at the moment, he might have noticed that he’d woken his guest, and that Steve had sleepily made his way to the kitchen entrance.

“Hey Bucky, what’s goin’ on?” Bucky whips around, eyes wide. Steve squints at him in confusion, one hand rubbing at the side of his head as he tries to wake up. Bucky’s panic quickly turns to anger, and he pins Steve with an accusatory glare.

“Have you been looking through my stuff?”

“What?” Steve looks even more confused now, and he takes a couple of steps into the kitchen, looking at the cabinets Bucky had just slammed closed before he appeared.

“My stuff,” Bucky replies stiffly, impatience clear in his tone.

“No, Bucky…why would I-?”

“When you got the tea last night,” Bucky starts, realization suddenly hitting him. “what else did you find?”

Steve looks like he has no idea what he’s talking about as he replies. “Uh, mugs? And tea? I don’t- Bucky, what are you talking about?”

He knows by now that Steve is terrible at lying, it’s like he’s too morally opposed to the act to ever do it well. So right now Bucky is inclined to believe his confusion. But still…if it wasn’t Steve, then who could it have been?

“You didn’t go through the drawers?” He asks carefully, eyes trained on Steve’s face for any sort of change in his expression.

Steve is still utterly confused as he replies. “No, I didn’t think you’d keep your mugs in drawers…and then I found the tea in the cupboard by the stove. Bucky, what’s going on?”

He looks concerned now, and Bucky doesn’t let himself look at that expression for more than a second before he’s grabbing his letter off the counter and storming past Steve and out of the kitchen. He walks off down the hall, and he hears Steve trailing after him as he walks into his room.

“Bucky. Hey, what’s wrong?” He tries, but Bucky ignores him, instead throwing his letter on the bed and pulling out a few of his drawers. He looks through them quickly, scanning for any signs of his other letters.

“It’s nothing,” he finally replies, stepping away from his dresser and running a hand through his hair. “I just lost something.”

“Oh…is it important?” Steve hovers in the doorway, looking unsure of whether or not he should enter Bucky’s room.

“Yeah, kinda…” He trails off, biting his lip and looking around the room for other places he could have placed the letters. He doesn’t understand how he could have moved them and then forgotten, but then what else could have happened? Did someone _steal_ the letters? That doesn’t seem likely, considering nothing else was stolen and every time Bucky’s come home everything has looked exactly as he’d left it. Well, until about ten minutes ago.

“What’s that?”

Bucky looks over at Steve in confusion until he sees where his eyes are directed. “That’s nothing,” he says quickly, grabbing the letter off his bed. “Just what was in the mail this morning.”

“Oh…”

Bucky can’t tell if Steve believes him or not, but he turns so he doesn’t have to look at him, instead closing his drawers and placing the letter on top of his dresser.

“Well do you need me to help you find…?” Steve gestures vaguely, and Bucky shakes his head.

“No, it’s fine. I’ll just look for it later.” He stands there, watching Steve as things turn a little awkward. Steve just stays there quietly there for a few seconds, looking away and moving from one foot to the other. He’s obviously unsure of what to do now, but Bucky doesn’t move to rectify the situation. It would be better for him now if Steve left. Then he could tear his apartment apart and try and figure out where the hell those letters had gone.

In the next moment, Steve inhales a breath, and then looks back at Bucky with an awkward smile. “Well…guess I should go check on Jackson. Sam checked on him last night, but I should…y’know…make sure he’s alright and stuff.”

“Sure.” Bucky nods, and Steve looks at him for a couple more seconds before turning and going to leave. “Uh…” Bucky starts, and Steve stops quickly, looking back at him.

“Thanks…for staying.” He knows that he has mixed feelings about the fact that Steve had stayed the night, but that’s not Steve’s fault. He was only being kind and considerate, and Bucky feels like he can at least appreciate that. He still likes Steve, after all. He can attempt to get over how he’s feeling right now and try not to be a dick.

Steve smiles at him a little, this one more genuine, and the sight makes something in Bucky calm. A warm feeling sprouts in him, and he finds that he suddenly doesn’t know if he wants Steve to leave quite yet.

“’Course,” Steve replies, and then he’s turning and leaving again. This time Bucky lets him go, and he waits a moment until he hears the front door open and close to let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

He sighs and runs another hand through his hair, looking about his room. Now that he’s actually alone he doesn’t know if he wants to put up with all of this, at least for the moment. If the letters are here, then they’re hopefully not going to sprout legs and move again (a thought that creeps Bucky out thoroughly, since he hadn’t thought the letters could _get_ any creepier), and if they’re not, well…

Bucky can think about that a little later.

For now, he just wants to take a shower like he’d been planning originally. Then he can get some coffee and breakfast and see where he wants to go from there.

* * *

 

Bucky steps out of the shower feeling refreshed and much calmer than he had thirty minutes prior. The thought that he still has no idea where the letters are still leaves an empty pit of anxiety burning in his stomach, but for now he does his best to ignore it. He can worry more about that in a bit. For now, he walks across the hall to his room and gets dressed, throwing on some clean clothes for work and then leaving his room to get some coffee.

He makes his way down the hall and then towards the kitchen, but he stops short when he notices the two figures standing in his living room.

Natasha gazes at him steadily, her arms crossed and an expression on her face that is almost business-like. Serious, and slightly intimidating.

Steve is the polar opposite as he stands next to her, arms at his side as he looks at Bucky nervously.

“Bucky,” Natasha greets. Or states. Bucky isn’t sure.

“What the hell is this, Nat?” His tone is aggressive even as he goes on the defense. He has no idea why she and Steve are standing in his apartment right now, and he doesn’t enjoy being taken off-guard.

“Sit. Please.” Bucky knows that she’s stating things now, as she nods toward his couch, her tone leaving no room for argument. Bucky stares back at her, and they have a silent conversation for a good minute. He might feel bad for Steve if he’d noticed how he’s looking back and forth between them, clearly uncomfortable with the situation.

Finally, Bucky moves to sit down, though he’s stiff the entire time, not liking that Natasha is keeping whatever she’s here for from him. He ends up not having to wait long to find out, because as soon as he’s seated and looking back up at her, she’s moving her right hand out from her side and tossing his letters onto the coffee table. They fan out in front of Bucky, and he feels his heart climb into his throat. He suddenly can’t look at her, or at Steve, so he just keeps his gaze locked onto the letters, even though he can hardly keep his eyes on them without feeling sick.

Neither Natasha nor Steve say anything, so Bucky is forced to look up so he can gauge their expressions. His eyes come to rest on Natasha, who he can now tell looks a little pissed.

“Tell me what these are, James.” He wants to narrow his eyes at her for using his birth name right now like she’s his mother, but he manages to refrain. It doesn’t stop him from being angry, though.

“Letters,” he replies shortly, jaw tight.

Her expression shifts, and he can tell she’s not about to put up with his sarcasm. “This isn’t a game. You’ve been getting threats and you haven’t been telling us. I’m assuming you haven’t told _anyone_.”

Bucky wants to look away, but he doesn’t let himself, instead staring defiantly back at her. She knows she’s right. Of course he hadn’t told anyone else. He would’ve gone to her or Steve first, and she knows that. That doesn’t mean that Bucky is about to give her anything, though. He stays tight-lipped on the couch, expression unwavering.

“Why did you keep this from us?” Her tone is gentler when she asks, and he looks away from the concern now present on her face. Silence follows her question, as he still refuses to answer her. He feels a bit of his anger at being ganged up on leave him, now being replaced with guilt.

“Bucky…” Steve calls out to him softly, and Bucky’s eyes move to the floor. He’d felt bad about keeping this from Steve from the start, considering he’d told the other man that he’d tell him if something happened again. He hadn’t kept his word, and now he’s facing the consequences. He wonders if Steve will be angry with him, or maybe disappointed. Possibly both.

“We’re worried about you, James. These letters…they’re terrible.” Natasha’s tone is now devoid of any sort of indignation, and Bucky knows before he even looks at her that she’s worried more than anything. “Are there any more?”

Bucky can’t help it when his eyes widen, just a fraction, but enough. They move over to Steve, who at first doesn’t seem to know why Bucky is suddenly watching him. Then understanding dawns across his features, and his jaw clenches a little as he looks back.

“I’ll be right back,” he states, and then he’s walking off toward Bucky’s room, Natasha’s confused stare watching him go. Bucky only glances over to her once Steve has left before his gaze settles back to the floor.

Steve returns a moment later, Bucky’s latest letter in his hand. He gives it to Natasha, who looks over it with a blank expression. Bucky knows it’s just a mask, that she’s probably now even more upset at him, but she’s good at keeping it hidden as she sets it down on the table with the others. She looks back at Bucky.

“You haven’t read this one yet.”

He shakes his head at her observation, eyes glancing at the unbroken seal on the back of the letter before moving back to Natasha. “No.”

“Good. You’re not going to.”

Bucky opens his mouth to argue, but she cuts him off before he can get a word out. “No.” His mouth closes.

“She’s right, Bucky. It wouldn’t do any good. I’ll get them all together and look over them for evidence, but…” Steve looks apologetic as he speaks. “We don’t think you should be reading them.”

Bucky knows what’s being unsaid here. _They’re too much for you to read. I saw how you were last week, these letters are ruining you. Let me read them, because you can’t handle it._

“I can handle some freak who sends me a love letter every so often,” he replies dryly. By their expressions, neither of them find his joking funny.

Natasha slowly leans forward, placing a hand on the coffee table, and looks directly into his eyes. He manages to not let himself be intimidated into moving back, his eyes instead glaring right back into her stern, slightly desparate, ones.

“Let me be _explicitly_ clear. Last week you were a mess, and I am _not_ seeing my best friend fall back into that state again. Do you understand?”

Bucky continues staring at her, his inner resolve weakened, although he’s sure his expression isn’t giving much away. That doesn’t matter though. Natasha’s always been able to read him, and he’s sure that she can tell he’s starting to give up the fight.

“Now. You are giving Steve the letters. And then you’re packing up your things, and getting out of here.”

“What?” He can’t stay silent at that. Why would he leave? He’s getting letters, it isn’t like he’s getting assassins sent after him. Well, at least not at home, he isn’t.

“Whoever this is knows where you live,” Natasha continues, as if he hadn’t said anything at all. “They’re going to keep sending you letters, and I know you. You’re going to keep reading them. Unless you can’t anymore.”

The fight that had once left Bucky starts to strengthen again. They can’t seriously be thinking they can _make_ him leave his own apartment?

“How do you know I’ll read them?”

Natasha straightens up a little, looking at him sadly. “Because if you could stop yourself you would only have one open letter on your coffee table.”

He looks away, angry with her for being right, but hating himself for being unable to stop.

“Look, Bucky…whoever this is, they’re sick. And it’s getting to you. We’re worried about you, and we just want you to be safe.” Her voice is so gentle now, so filled with concern, and Bucky knows that he isn’t going to say no again. “I know you’re strong. But this…this is someone that knows you somehow. And until we can find out who’s doing this and stop the letters, it’s not safe for you here.”

There’s silence for a moment, as Bucky keeps his gaze on the wall near the front door. He hates this. He wishes she wasn’t right, and that he can be stronger than some stupid letters. But she _is_ right. This person is dangerous to him, as much as he hates to admit it. And as much as he doesn’t want to leave, it’s starting to look like he’s not going to have a choice in the matter.

He takes in a deep breath and lets it out slowly, moving to look back at Natasha. She must see the resignation in his eyes, because he can definitely see the relief in hers.

“Okay.”

She doesn’t smile, or hug him, or give any sign that she’s glad he’s acquiesced aside from a small nod. But the nod is enough, and so is the disappearance of the tension in her posture. It’s a subtle shift, but one Bucky can recognize.

“You can’t stay with me,” she says then, and Bucky is once gain confused. Before he says anything, she goes on. “It’s too close to your apartment and we might get back at different times. They could leave a letter under your door and you could come in to get something and it’d be just waiting for you.”

Bucky shakes his head. “Nat, I’m not-“

“Can you tell me you wouldn’t just hide it from me again?” She interrupts, and he shuts his mouth, jaw tightening. He’d fucked himself over by lying to her the first time. Even if he _could_ give her the letter should he get another in the future, she wouldn’t believe him telling her that now. She takes advantage of his momentary silence to pin him with another pleading look. “We don’t want you in danger. Please let us help you.”

He watches her for a few seconds before his gaze moves to Steve, who has remained silent for most of the conversation, letting Natasha direct it. He looks back at him worriedly, and Bucky feels any remaining willpower he might have had break.

He nods a little, looking back to Natasha, and she finally gives him a tiny smile before straightening up.

“Okay. I’ll get some of your things together while you’re at work. I have the day off anyway.”

“I need to call Clint,” Bucky states, knowing that Natasha and Steve don’t have a way to get ahold of him. Unless Steve had somehow gotten his number. Clint might not have any idea yet that Bucky is going to be staying over for a while.

They share a look between the two of them then, and Bucky suddenly feels a little nervous.

“Clint’s still recovering,” Natasha says, looking back at him. “He just came home from the hospital a few days ago, right?” Bucky nods, recalling when he’d told Natasha Clint was finally going home on Wednesday. “Then he probably shouldn’t have this kind of stress around while he heals.”

Bucky frowns a little. She has a point, and he takes a moment to silently admit that to himself. Still, he can’t say he likes his other option.

“What am I supposed to tell my parents?” he questions, not really knowing how he’s supposed to let them know that he’ll need to move back home temporarily. It’s something he _definitely_ does not want to do, but he supposes that it’ll at least be a little quieter there than it had been when he was younger, with only one of his siblings still living at home now. His mom will probably welcome him back with open arms.

Natasha’s face is carefully steady as she replies. “You’re not moving back home Bucky. They might start to ask questions.”

He looks back at her, not understanding. If he can’t move in with her or Clint or his parents, then who…

His eyes suddenly move over to Steve, who looks like he’s ready to sink into the floor, he looks so nervous.

“No.” Bucky’s eyes lock back onto Natasha’s, his tone final. She actually looks surprised for a moment, and she obviously wasn’t expecting his answer. Of course, she didn’t have a reason to given how highly Bucky thinks of Steve. She knows that he considers him a friend and so it had probably seemed like a great option when she and Steve were discussing it amongst themselves before they confronted Bucky. But unless Steve had told her about last night, she doesn’t know that Bucky had practically spilled his guts to him. Even if she does know, she might not realize how Bucky’s feeling about the whole thing. After all, she’s always wanted him to open up to more people, because it would be “good” for him and he might “feel better”. And at first, he had. But now he doesn’t know if maybe he’d opened up and given Steve _too_ much. His emotions from this morning return to haunt him as he realizes he might have to live with Steve now.

“Bucky, this is the best option for now-“

“Natasha, it’s okay,” Steve interjects, and Bucky looks over at him. He has a gentle smile on his face, but something about it looks strained, and Bucky feels guilt shoot through him like a bullet. “Maybe there’s a different option. I’m sure Bucky’s family wouldn’t ask too many questions, and we can make up something ahead of time in case they do.”

Natasha looks at Steve like she’s not quite ready to drop their original idea, but at the same time she’s considering this new option. Bucky doesn’t let her thoughts get too far.

“I’ll stay with Steve,” he states, looking back at Natasha and then over to Steve, who seems surprised. “When can we get my stuff together?”

“Bucky, you don’t have to-“

“It’s okay.” Bucky cuts Steve off before he can argue for his sake. If Steve is willing to share his home with Bucky then he’s not going to stomp all over that. He suddenly feels like an asshole for trying to reject the idea in the first place, though he’s still feeling apprehensive. He doesn’t let himself think about that too much right now.

“You should get ready for work,” Natasha cuts in, glancing over at Steve and then to Bucky with a slightly worried expression. “I’ll get your stuff for you.”

He nods. He trusts her to know what he needs for work and what he’ll like to wear otherwise. There _is_ one thing he’s still worried about, however.

“What about Dorothy?”

Natasha gets a little smile. “She can stay with me.”

“Or…” Steve begins, and two pairs of eyes move to him as he continues. “…you can bring her to my place. I know I have Jackson, but he’s the gentlest dog I know. I don’t know how he’ll do with a cat, but we can at least try it.”

Bucky considers this. Steve doesn’t live very far away, so it’s not like taking Dorothy over there to see how she’d do would be such a big deal. It’d be easy to bring her back if things don’t work out. And he _would_ like having her there with him… Having Dorothy around is something that’s always made him feel better.

“Okay, sure. We can try it.” Steve smiles a little, and Bucky feels like he’s somehow made him happy just by agreeing to his suggestion. He would say Steve’s a weird guy, but then _he_ can’t say that he isn’t feeling a little happier at seeing Steve smile, so what does that make him?

“Alright, then it’s settled. I’ll get some of your stuff together, you get ready for work, and when you get back we’ll get you moved over to Steve’s.” Natasha’s whole tone and posture is totally different from when the conversation had started, and Bucky can tell how relieved she is. He feels terrible for making her worry so much, even though he’s not really excited to be forced out of his apartment. Still, he feels like he owes her some sort of apology, so he decides to do it in the only way he can think to at the moment.

“Thanks.” He knows he probably even looks a little guilty at the moment, and he notices the way Natasha’s eyes soften. She looks like she wants to say something, but then she gives him a small nod before walking off toward his room to gather some of his things.

Steve watches her go before turning his attention back to Bucky and giving him a little smile. Any animosity Bucky may have had at him going behind his back with Natasha is gone in that second.

“You want some coffee?” Bucky offers, getting up and walking off toward the kitchen.

“Sure.”

He doesn’t hear Steve move to follow him, and once he’s in the kitchen, grabbing two mugs from the cabinet, he picks up on the sound of paper being gathered together in the next room.

* * *

 

Bucky doesn’t know what Steve’s done with the letters, and he tries not to let himself care too much. At this point, the issue has been forced out of his hands, and he almost relishes the fact that he won’t have to think about it anymore. A part of him feels a little apprehensive at the fact that Steve will now be reading the disturbing letters that are meant for _him_ , but then he supposes it’s the best option for now. Because they aren’t directed toward him, Steve might be able to pick them apart and get some evidence. Bucky, as much as he hates to admit, hadn’t even been able to try. Just looking at the letters caused his anxiety to spike. Now they might have a chance at finding out who keeps sending them.

He and Steve ride together in the car, on their way to work. They’d both decided that riding together as much as they can will be beneficial, after what had happened yesterday. Two pairs of eyes that are now trained to pick up any potential threats are better than one. If Bucky had been driving alone to meet Greymore’s wife he might not even be here right now.

The trip has been mostly silent so far, with Bucky alternating between being lost in thought and paying attention to their surroundings, and Steve keeping to himself as he drives.

Bucky can’t help but think Steve is having some sort of inner conflict at the moment. His eyes move around the road too, looking out for anything that could harm them, but then his lips will go into a tight line, or he’ll frown and look almost sad. And Bucky doesn’t know if he can take much more of it.

“Thanks for letting me stay at your place,” he says, finally breaking the thick silence in the car.

“Sure…I’m just sorry you have to leave your apartment.” Bucky gives a little shrug, but Steve doesn’t see it, eyes trained on the road. He continues, “You know…you could still stay with your family if that’s what you really want.” He sounds earnest when he speaks, like he’s really only interested in what Bucky wants. It doesn’t stop Bucky from feeling bad for earlier, though.

“Nah, that’d just be a bad idea. Trust me. If I stayed there I’d prob’ly end up _begging_ to stay at your place,” he jokes, grinning over at Steve. It only earns a little smile in response.

Steve goes quiet again for a little while, and Bucky feels like the silence is almost deafening. It actually makes him feel a little anxious, and he’s left wondering why, because this morning he’d felt as if he should be _trying_ to get Steve to stop talking to him. That way he could avoid potentially sharing more about his past, and he’d be able to once again lock away the parts of himself he’d rather not think about. He still isn’t sure what it is about Steve that makes him feel comfortable with opening up to him. He doesn’t have this problem with Clint, and he hasn’t really talked to Natasha about what happened with Dugan for years. It had remained a mostly closed book since Bucky stopped seeing his therapist and tried getting his life back together. So why did he go and open it again so easily when Steve came along.

He doesn’t know what it is about Steve that makes let his guard down, and it’s still something that shakes him. But he also knows that he’s not going to be able to push him away. He’s pretty sure that now, after hiding how he’d been feeling from Steve last week, the other man will notice when something isn’t quite right. And if this momentary silence is already starting to wrack his nerves, then he won’t be able to hide that something is wrong while he’s _living_ with Steve. He’s pretty sure he’s going to have a tough time hiding anything now, when Steve has seen him at his worst.

And that’s honestly scarier than anything else.

“Sorry,” he says, finally breaking the silence.

“For what?” Steve is genuinely confused when he looks over at him, and Bucky has to wonder if Steve is either really quick to forgive or if he’s really not upset with Bucky at all. The latter doesn’t really make sense to Bucky, because he’d told Steve that he’d tell him if something happened again, and he hadn’t. By all rights, Steve should be at least a _little_ pissed at him, like Natasha. Or at least feeling betrayed or let down.

“For not tellin’ you about the letters,” Bucky replies, as if the answer is obvious. And it really should be, but Steve isn’t making as big a deal out of this as Bucky had been expecting.

“I guess I just don’t really understand it.” Steve looks back at the road, his expression still the epitome of calm. It somehow makes Bucky feel confused while also making him feel even guiltier.

Bucky shrugs. “I didn’t tell Nat because she’s been worried over me enough lately. And I didn’t tell you because…well it was a little of the same thing, but mostly I just thought that if they were busy sendin’ _me_ letters maybe they’d leave you alone.”

Steve turns back to him, gaze questioning.

“I mean, before yesterday nothing happened to you,” Bucky explains. “I had a stalker and then I got the letter, but nothing was goin’ on with you, so I didn’t wanna drag you into it.”

Steve is quiet for a few seconds, and Bucky watches him as he seems to consider what he’d said.

“How do you know I haven’t had things happen to me, too?” he asks.

“S’pose I wouldn’t…” Bucky pauses for a second, then smirks at Steve when the other looks back over. “…but you’re a _shitty_ liar.”

Steve laughs loudly at that, and Bucky’s smirk changes to a grin.

“Yeah, guess I can’t argue with that. And you’re a pretty good one.” It sounds almost like a compliment, although Bucky doesn’t really feel like he should be proud of lying to Steve. He feels guilty, and honestly a little upset that he couldn’t hide everything better. But he certainly doesn’t feel proud. “I think I’d like it if you tried lying to me less often, though.”

Bucky looks away as he seriously considers Steve’s words. Can he really promise that he won’t do it again? He knows that he can trust Steve, and that no matter what Bucky does he could always end up in danger somehow. He’s not going to be able to stop that. But if someone tries to take Bucky out or follow him again, or finds some other way to contact him, can he go to Steve with that information?

He makes his decision then, and it’s one that he plans to see through.

“Okay.”

Steve smiles.

* * *

 

Steve hadn’t told him about Coulson until the older man strode up to their desks as they set down their things and asked them both to come into his office. Bucky wonders if he might have forgotten, or if Steve had just been putting off telling him until the last minute. Whatever the case, Bucky now stands in Coulson’s office next to a very tense-looking Steve, not knowing what the hell he’s in here for. It doesn’t help that Fury is seated at Coulson’s desk, intent gaze staring back and forth between the two of them.

“You both look uninjured. That’s good,” he states, voice slow and careful. It’s enough of a clue to let Bucky know that they’re standing here because of what happened yesterday. Although it takes him another few seconds to realize why he and Steve might _actually_ be here.

“You didn’t file a report, did you?” He looks over to Steve, who manages to only look surprised for a second before he schools his features once again.

“No, he didn’t.” Fury replies for Steve, his gaze now locked onto him exclusively. Steve, for his part, manages to look unaffected, and Bucky’s a little impressed with the way he stares, unflinchingly, right back at their chief.

“He said that he was busy getting you off the scene,” Coulson interjects, and Bucky lets himself try and remember the details of what had happened after the crash. It’s not too easy, considering he was mostly focused on breathing and trying to block out a lot of the outside world until he got home, but he can’t remember Steve ever leaving his side once they left the scene. That means he hadn’t even gone to see Coulson. And that probably means he’s now in trouble.

“What about _after_ you got Barnes off the scene, detective? What happened when you got _here_?” Fury’s gaze bores into Steve, and Bucky watches the latter nervously. Fury seems more pissed off than he’s ever witnessed him being before, and Bucky isn’t liking their odds.

“I took detective Barnes home,” Steve replies. Fury seems to be expecting more out of him, but when Steve says nothing his eyes narrow further.

“I see. So _that_ was your priority?”

“With all do respect sir-“ Coulson tries to interject, but Fury holds up a hand to stop him.

“Was Barnes gravely injured?” Fury asks, and though Bucky knows the answer is obvious, he also realizes that Fury is expecting an answer.

“No,” Steve replies firmly.

“Was he in need of medical attention?”

“No.”

Bucky can almost feel the tension in the room, thick enough to cut. Fury points a finger toward the desk, harshly tapping the surface as he speaks again. “Then why did you leave _this_ building without informing anyone _first_?”

Steve opens his mouth to rebut, but Bucky decides he’s had enough.

“I was in bad shape.” All eyes in the room turn toward Bucky, but he only keeps his on Fury, who seems a little annoyed at the interruption. “Steve was just trying to get me to a safe place.”

“What do you mean you were ‘in bad shape?’” Fury’s intimidating gaze is directed toward him now, but Bucky decides to take some inspiration from Steve and stands his ground.

“I have PTSD.” Bucky is successful in keeping his voice steady as he explains, even though it’s the last thing he wants to be doing. He’s only explicitly stated it to two people before, and each time he'd hoped it would be the last time he'd have to talk about it.“I started having a panic attack when we were hit, and Steve was trying to help me by getting me home.”

Fury is silent for a moment. He looks as if he wants to argue, but Bucky just continues to stare him down until he gives a deep sigh and shakes his head. He looks back at Steve, the irritation in his face waning into a stern look of authority.

“The safety of your partner is important. But it’s not acceptable that this incident had to be reported by an officer who didn’t arrive on the scene until three minutes after it was called in. Civilians were injured, someone’s car was damaged by an officer, and we have to cover some of those damages. Not to mention that this is now a media firestorm.” Bucky’s a little surprised at hearing that, but then he immediately starts to feel defensive. It hadn’t been their fault that someone had tried to ram into them in the middle of a busy intersection, and Steve had only done what he thought was safest in the moment. If he’d turned the car right, then they would have gone right up on the sidewalk, and he doesn’t want to think about what could have happened in that scenario. Not to mention the fact that if he hadn’t done anything, or if he’d yelled at Bucky to stop and he couldn’t do it in time, then they might not even be here right now.

“I should suspend you,” Fury states, and Bucky clenches his teeth at the sudden wave of anger that washes over him. Steve is the last person who should go down for this. “But you’ve been on this case long enough for it to warrant your continuation. I’m not gonna worry about finding someone to replace you.” _‘And I wouldn’t let you’_ Bucky wants to say, but he bites his tongue, knowing it would only escalate the situation. “The first thing you’re doing when you walk out of here is writing up a report and submitting it.”

Steve nods slowly, and Fury continues.

“Now. We need to talk about that black SUV.”

Bucky is confused for a moment, until he realizes that it must have been the car that plowed into them. He hardly remembers anything about the scene, too lost in his own mind and memories to take in what was happening around him.

“I inspected the vehicle, but whoever was driving it left by the time I got there,” Steve explains, and Fury makes a skeptical face.

“You’re telling me that the car crashed, flipped several times, and the person inside still got out without you noticing?”

Steve nods, expression serious. “There was a crowd gathered around by the time I got there. They must have crawled out and used the chaos of the situation to get away. There wasn’t any blood around the SUV, either. I think they must’ve gotten out of it without any injuries.”

Fury looks thoughtful as he considers Steve’s words. “Well. S’pose that’s the point of an armored vehicle, isn’t it?”

Bucky and Steve are both confused by this statement, but Steve’s the one who speaks up first. “Armored, sir?”

Fury nods. “We brought the SUV in and checked it out. There was minimal damage after the crash. Whole vehicle was reinforced. Frame, windows, all of it. Hell, even the tires coulda taken a few bullets, at least. Whoever built this thing wanted to make it stronger than whatever it went up against.”

Bucky’s the one who interjects now.

“Whoever _built_ it?”

“Yup. Custom made. They started with a Chevy and built it up from there. We weren’t able to trace it back to any manufacturing plants, all the information on where it might’ve come from was removed from the car. Codes, numbers- anything that could be traced, they got rid of.”

“A Chevy?” Heads turn to Steve when he suddenly speaks. “That’s the same make as the car that hit Morita and Barton.”

Bucky’s surprised to learn this information, since Clint had only briefly mentioned the crash that he’d been in with Morita. Bucky got the feeling at the time that it’s a bad memory for him, considering it took his partner out of commission. He can sympathize.

“We caught that, yeah,” Fury replies, mouth drawn into a frown. “Whoever tried to take them out was behind yesterday’s attempt, too. And we can’t say anything for sure right now, but it’s a good bet that the same person, or _people_ , were behind the shooting that put Barton in the hospital.”

Bucky clenches his jaw. He hates that they can’t pin all of the attacks on any criminal organizations yet, considering the only link to the mafia had been the man who’d tried to shoot him. But he knows that the same people _have_ to be behind all three events. Whoever they are, they don’t want this case solved. Bucky’s determined not to let them stop him from finding out why.

He wonders if the same people could be behind the letters, too. It’s a very real possibility, considering they’re being directed toward him and they’re obviously meant to harm him. They could be connected. He realizes that Steve might have already thought of the possibility, too, and he looks over at him, tensing as he waits for Steve to bring them up.

He doesn’t.

“We’ll need to make sure you two are safe, after yesterday’s attempt,” Fury continues, looking between the both of them. “I know that it’s gonna be difficult, and there’s only so much we can do to protect you. But we can install trackers in your cars, and Stark’s told me he’s installing security systems in your apartments, so that’s a start."

Bucky doesn’t remember agreeing to let _Tony Stark_ put a security system in his apartment, but then he’s not about to argue, especially if there are cameras involved. They might be able to catch whoever’s slipping the letters under his door. He can be on-board with the idea if that’s a possibility.

“Just try not to let yourselves get caught up in another situation like yesterday’s.” Fury looks over at Bucky then, at pins him with a glare. “And don’t go taking on armed stalkers by yourselves.” He turns back to Steve then, and Bucky wonders if either of them noticed his stomach dropping right out of him and onto the floor. “Keep both eyes open.”

Steve nods curtly. “Yes sir.”

Coulson speaks up then, and it’s a stark contrast to Fury’s tone. “Bucky, Steve told me you had a tough time yesterday, but he didn’t tell me how bad it was. Are you going to be okay continuing on this case?” He doesn’t let himself sound too concerned, maintaining the authoritative tone he has to have as their commanding officer. But Bucky can still hear the worry hidden in the question. Coulson cares about all of their safety, and he can only imagine how he’s feeling now, when two of his detectives have been in the hospital in the last six months, and two more had come very close to being in the same position yesterday.

“Yes,” he replies, not bothering to hide his determination, neither in his tone nor his expression. “I’ll be fine, sir.” He adds the “sir” mostly for Coulson’s benefit, since Fury _is_ still sitting at his desk, witnessing the entire conversation. Coulson gives him a little smile.

“That’s what I expected to hear. Just know that your safety isn’t limited to your physical state, detective. If you do ever need off the case, come talk to me.”

Bucky knows that won’t be an option, not now when he’s far too dedicated to what they’re doing. But he nods anyway.

“You’re free to leave,” Fury states, although he contradicts himself by directing a finger in Steve’s direction. “But that report better be the first thing you do when you get out of this room.”

Steve nods, and Bucky gets the feeling that the report is more of a way to punish Steve for not checking in with Coulson yesterday than an actual requirement. He supposes that Steve could have gotten worse, though, so he doesn’t say anything.

Neither of them look back as they leave, and Bucky only does so when they get back to their desks. He lets out an exaggerated breath, feeling some stress from the situation leave him.

“That was fuckin’ nuts,” he states.

“That’s one way to put it,” Steve replies, sitting down at his desk and getting out his laptop. Bucky assumes that he’s getting straight to work on the report. He stands there for a moment and watches him, biting his lip.

“Want some help with that?”

Steve offers him a tight-lipped smile, but otherwise he doesn’t look up from his computer. “Nah, it’s alright, I got it.”

Bucky nods, and it’s silent for another moment as Steve begins to type. He considers going to his own desk to continue working on the case, but he knows that there’s something he needs to get off his chest before he does.

“Thank you.”

Steve pauses to look up at him, and Bucky can tell that he’s confused. “For what?”

“For tryin’ to take the blame. And for not telling Coulson or Fury about me.”

Steve shakes his head a little, a sign that he doesn’t think he deserves the appreciation. “Wasn’t for me to tell. Besides, I should be the one thanking you.”

Now Bucky’s the one who’s confused.

“Why?”

Steve looks back at him, smiling a little. “If you hadn’t stepped in when you did I might be out of a job.”

He laughs lightly at the statement. “Nah, I think you woulda been alright. Gotta say though, I’m impressed. Not many guys can give Fury the stink-eye and get away with it. Or, not many guys are dumb enough to _try_ , anyway.”

Steve laughs then, and it’s such a genuine one that Bucky can’t help but grin. “Gee, thanks.”

“Anytime.”

Steve keeps watching him for a moment, his smile dimming a little until it’s replaced with something more concerned. “Hey…you okay? After talking to Fury about all of that, I mean.”

Bucky lifts a brow. “What, about the PTSD, or the crash?” he asks, nonchalant, although he feels like Steve might be able to see through his façade at this point.

“Well both, I guess…” Steve is still concerned, and Bucky wonders whether or not he’s okay with the fact that it’s kind of comforting. Part of him doesn’t want to put that worry on Steve, but another part feels as if he appreciates Steve looking out for him. At the same time, the feels the fear from this morning slowly return, and he recalls how easily he’d opened up to Steve last night and how uncomfortable it is to think about how much more of himself he could reveal. How much closer to Steve he could let himself get.

Unlike this morning, however, Bucky knows that he has no reason to regret telling Steve about himself or his past. Steve had kept the details of what happened after the crash to himself, and he’d been there for Bucky afterward. He’d stayed and listened to him talk and then spent the night. Bucky can only come to the conclusion that he’d done all of that because he really cares. It’s a gripping and frightening revelation, but Bucky wonders if he can really run from it.

Because he couldn’t to it with Natasha. She’s been there for him since they were 8 and she punched the boy who’d tripped Bucky during recess. She’d gotten suspended and Bucky felt bad that she got in trouble because of him. So the next day when that same boy pushed a little girl down on the playground, Bucky had gone right up to him and gave him a broken nose. He got suspended too, and he knew that Natasha lived just up the street from him, so the first chance he got he grabbed two jello pudding cups from the fridge, snuck out of the house when his mom was busy with one of his sisters, and went over to Natasha’s. She’d done the exact same thing for him eight years later, when Bucky had caught her boyfriend cheating on her and didn’t stop himself from letting him know _exactly_ how he felt about that. He’d gotten suspended for a whole week that time. Natasha brought him jello every day.  
He’d never try running from what they have now, especially when he knows she wouldn’t _let_ him.

He also knows he doesn’t want to run from his friendship (and that’s the only thing he can think to name it now, after everything), with Clint, because that man had taken _bullets_ for him. He’s shared things about himself that have made Bucky realize he trusts him and it’s something Bucky is grateful for. He may not have shared too much in return, but Clint never minded. He’d just smile and make Bucky laugh with a story about when he’d first joined the force, or the time he’d accidentally shot his brother in the ass with an arrow when he was ten (he likes to tell that one a lot, but Bucky doesn’t mind, it always makes him crack a grin, at the very least). Clint is someone he can relax and let down his guard around. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever tell him about his time in Iraq, but he knows it won’t matter. Clint will be a friend to him either way. It’s just the kind of guy he is.

Now, with Steve…

He remembers how he’d felt when he’d walked out into the living room last night to see Steve petting Dorothy, two mugs of tea on the table. Then, this morning when he’d first caught sight of Steve asleep on the couch. And ten minutes ago, when Steve had held his ground in front of Fury and stated that he made getting Bucky home a priority yesterday, all without telling him about Bucky’s PTSD.

No. He doesn’t want to run away from this, either. He’s getting a little tired of running.

He offers Steve a little smile as he reaches forward and pats his shoulder. “I’m fine. Just worry about your report.”

Steve returns his smile as Bucky moves away. “Okay. What are you gonna do?”

“I’ll head down to tech, see where they are with the USB,” he replies, already heading toward the elevator. It’s been more than two days since he gave it to them, so he finds it weird that they haven’t been able to get into it yet. The encryption could just be tough to figure out, but then they should have been working on it almost non-stop since Bucky got it to them, so he feels like they should have at least made _some_ progress _._ Even if they haven’t, he wants to find out why. That in itself might provide some answers.

“Alright. I’ll try and be done by the time you get back.” Steve goes back to typing out the report as Bucky boards the elevator.

“Don’t strain yourself,” he quips, grinning as he presses the button for the third floor.

“Yeah, ‘cause paperwork is the toughest part of this job,” Steve replies sarcastically, and Bucky can’t help but laugh as the doors close.

* * *

 

They’d apparently called Bucky earlier that morning, but he isn’t surprised that he’d missed it. Between Steve and Natasha cornering him, the drive to work, and then the interrogation from Fury, Bucky isn’t worried about the fact he’d missed his phone buzzing away in his pocket.

He wouldn’t have been able to retrieve the USB until now anyway, and he wouldn’t have been able to return to Steve and look over the information with him any sooner. Or at least Steve _tries_ to look over the information with him, but Bucky keeps reminding him of the report he’s still in the middle of writing every time he gets distracted.

“I can handle this,” he tells him, and he swears to God that Steve is almost pouting at this point. “You go finish that stupid report. ‘Else I’ll call Fury down here so he can rip you a new one all over again.”

Bucky just grins at Steve’s glare, and his mumbled “You’re just bein’ mean, now,” as he slinks away to his desk.

It doesn’t take him that long to finish the report and submit it, and soon he’s seated right next to Bucky, going over all of the files contained on the USB.

“There’s a lot about SHIELD,” Bucky murmurs, and Steve nods as his eyes move over an article about the company in the New York Times that Greymore had photocopied and added to the drive.

“Yeah. It’s not what I was expecting. The majority of it’s on Pierce, too…”

“And Sitwell,” Bucky adds, recalling the few articles and documents about Pierce’s secretary they’d seen stashed on the USB.

“It looks like Greymore was onto what Pierce was actually doing before his arrest.” Steve brings up a document they’d been looking over earlier. A lot of it has been blacked out, but it still contains enough information to point to Pierce’s involvement in a major deal of some sort that took place in France. There are a few other documents similar to it, and although none of them have enough to detail what exactly Pierce had been involved in, they’re enough to suggest that he’d been part of some pretty shady stuff.

“He was practically withholding evidence,” Bucky states, a little upset that this hadn’t all come out during Pierce’s trial. There’d been enough to convict him anyway, of course, thanks to Sitwell and other people who were close to Pierce that ended up betraying him. But even so, these documents could have been helpful in bringing him down sooner.

“Look at this…” Steve opens a file titled _“Tony Stark”._ There are three documents and five photocopied news articles inside, all having to do with Stark and his business relationship with Pierce. Bucky’s relieved to find that none of them are blacked out, but then none of them connect Stark to anything incriminating. The documents highlight the business plan Stark Industries developed with SHIELD, their contracts, and some of their deals. One of the news articles talk about Stark and Pierce at the charity ball two years ago, while the other is about Stark at some recent event with the CEO of HYDRA, Johann Schmidt. It’s suddenly a bit eerie to Bucky how welcomed Pierce was by everyone before he went down. It just makes all of it that much more frightening, to know how well Pierce had done for himself and how many friends in high places he’d made, all while being involved with so many disturbing illegal deals on the side. Something else unnerves him, too.

“Don’t you think it’s weird?”

Steve turns and looks at him, and if Bucky weren’t so caught up in the article in front of him, he might have been a little startled at how close they are. As it is, he doesn’t see the way Steve’s eyes widen at how close his face is to Bucky’s, or how he subtly shifts away to get some space between them.

“What?” Steve sounds a little odd as he replies, but Bucky thinks nothing of it, too intent on following his train of thought.

“That Stark was so friendly with Pierce, but it didn’t take him any time at all to jump into bed with his enemy.”

“You mean how SHIELD and HYDRA were each other’s competition?” Steve asks, attention turned back to the computer as he re-analyzes the article about Stark and Pierce.

“Yeah. It just seems weird that Stark would jump right from SHIELD to HYDRA. I get that Pierce wasn’t by any means a good guy, but…”

“I get what you mean. It’s business though, and Tony probably didn’t feel like he needed to have any loyalties toward a criminal. If HYDRA approached him there would’ve been no reason for him to say no.” Steve frowns, leaning back in his chair a little. “You know, at the ball, Johann Schmidt mentioned Pierce.”

Bucky looks over at him interestedly. “You met him?”

“Yeah. I ran into Tony, and then he started talking to Schmidt.”

“Huh...” Bucky considers this new information. The fact that Steve is buddies with the most famous man in New York is still a little weird to him, especially considering what he’s heard about Tony Stark. He and Steve seem like complete opposites. But he supposes stranger things have probably happened. Probably. “So what’d Schmidt have to say?”

“That he’s glad Pierce is in jail. He didn’t seem to like him much.”

Bucky huffs a laugh. “Well, him and the rest of New York. Pierce was a piece of trash.”

“Well, he still is. He’s in jail, not gone for good.”

Bucky heaves a sigh and leans back in his chair. “And now he might be involved in all of this shit.”

Steve is silent for a moment, looking at the evidence. “I don’t know how he’s connected, but Greymore was taken out for _something_. It’s starting to look like maybe he knew too much.”

“Knew too much about Pierce…” Bucky suggests. It’s the only conclusion he can come to, based on the evidence. Still, he hadn’t suspected Pierce, even after all he’d done. He hasn’t had any reason to be connected to the murders so far, and he’s been in jail for the majority of them.

“Guess we need to find out more about how Pierce fits into all of this.”

“Well, we kind of had our chance with Greymore’s wife ruined, so this is prob’ly our best bet right now,” Bucky says, obviously annoyed at the fact as he frowns at the screen.

“I’ll see what I can do about Mrs. Greymore. She’s probably seen the news, and we might be able to use that to our advantage.”

“I dunno, she seemed pretty hesitant in the first place. But I guess if anyone will bring her around, it’s you,” Bucky states, not thinking before he does so. His eyes shift to watch Steve, who’s actually got a small, bashful smile on his face. Soon, however, his expression shifts into something more concerned at he looks over at Bucky.

“I was thinking we should go talk to Pierce. Are you gonna be alright with that?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?"

Steve frowns, as if Bucky should have every reason to not want to talk to Pierce. “Well, you put him away Bucky. What if…”

He trails off, and Bucky takes the moment to cut in. “What if what? He probably knows I’m the one who put him in there, but he’s in jail Steve. What’s he gonna do?”

Steve just looks at him helplessly, and Bucky tries to deal with the fact that he wants to roll his eyes because Steve is worried over someone who’s stuck in a cell ninety percent of the time, and the fact that he also has a strange sort of warm feeling spreading through him at knowing how concerned Steve’s getting.

He settles on sighing a little, reigning in the urge to roll his eyes. He already feels guilty for all the worry he’s put Steve through lately, and even though he thinks this time it’s unfounded, the other man still doesn’t deserve it.

“It’ll be fine, okay? Pierce is just some nobody in an orange jumpsuit now. ‘Sides, it’s not like I’m gonna be there to rub it in. If he’s pissed at me for bringin’ him down so be it, but I don’t think we’re gonna have to worry about him shanking me or something.”

Steve doesn’t look totally convinced, and Bucky can tell he wants to argue more, but he ultimately decides to let it go. Bucky’s glad for it, because this is something he _isn’t_ worried about. At all. It isn’t that he’s proud of putting Pierce away. It’d really just been the result of some deep digging and luck on Bucky’s part, at least if you asked him. Even so, he’s looking forward to seeing how far Pierce has fallen. When everything came out about what he’d done and what he’d been involved with, plenty of people were shocked and disgusted. Bucky hadn’t been exempt from those feelings, even though he’d never had an opinion one way or the other about the man. Still, knowing that he’d been their Police Commissioner, and the CEO of a Fortune 500 company that had expanded all over the world…that he’d been powerful and wealthy and fooling them all…Bucky wasn’t surprised that he was corrupt, but he hadn’t expected just _how_ much. Now he’s curious to see him, and to know what life is like after he’s fallen so far. He doesn’t know if he’s behind these murders- that’d be something tough to pull off while behind bars. But he does know that he isn’t afraid of Pierce. Because if he does have any part in what’s been going on lately, then Bucky has no problem bringing him down even further.

* * *

 

The room is fairly small, but it’s not as terrible as Bucky’d imagined. It’s well-lit and the chairs aren’t too uncomfortable, although he hopes they’re not going to end up having to be here long. It’s probably a fallacious hope, since he doesn’t expect Pierce to just own up to everything so they can be on their way. Still, he’d rather not sit here and play good-cop-bad-cop with Steve for hours on end.

Pierce is led in by a corrections officer, and when he looks up and sees them he gives a smile. It’s pleasant and non-threatening, but Bucky knows that it’s all show. Pierce had been a master of deception, after all, and Bucky’s willing to bet he hasn’t forgotten any of his tricks just because he’s been locked away.

He sits, and looks between them both, looking totally relaxed and cordial. A part of Bucky’d been hoping that he would look a bit defeated, or at least surprised at the fact he and Steve are here. But as Pierce smiles at them Bucky sees none of that.

“Gentlemen. What can I do for you?”

Steve manages to keep his expression neutral, but Bucky can’t help but frown in Pierce’s direction. It’s probably for the best that Steve ends up replying to his question.

“We’re here to ask you some questions,” Steve begins, and Pierce’s eyes trail to the tape recorder sitting in the middle of the table, already turned on. “We’re going to record this conversation for later evidence.”

“By all means. It isn’t like I have much choice in this, do I?” Pierce still has that open, affable look on his face, and Bucky tries not to let it annoy him. He can’t keep from glaring at the man though, because Pierce has no right to be this upbeat while he’s stuck here. This is supposed to be a place to punish him for what he’s done, but Bucky sees no signs of suffering on his part. Pierce catches sight of his expression, and his smile grows. “Ah, officer Barnes, you’re looking well. I see you’ve been promoted. A detective, hm? Congratulations.”

Bucky doesn’t reply to what he knows are false words set in a patronizing tone. This guy couldn’t possibly be happy for him after what he’d done. Bucky wouldn’t be surprised if there’s a picture of him in Pierce’s cell that he throws darts at every night. He doesn’t reply to Pierce at all, instead letting his glare do all of the talking. Steve takes the moment to direct the conversation back to him.

“We have evidence connecting you to a murder.” Steve takes the direct and to-the-point approach, probably hoping to take Pierce off-guard. It doesn’t.

“Oh? Well, that’s funny detective, considering I was never charged with murder, and I’ve been stuck in prison for the last four months.” Pierce sounds like he’s chatting about the weather when he speaks, not a trace of fear in his voice. Steve frowns.

“I never said these murder was recent,” he states, tone deadly serious. Bucky had no idea he’d be so good at interrogation. He might not mind letting him take point with stuff like this in the future if he can be this intimidating every time.

“Wasn’t it?” Pierce replies, and he almost sounds like he’s playing a game with them now. “It’d have to be, considering I wasn’t connected to any murders while I was being investigated. I’d think that would’ve been discovered while I was being held, unless detective Barnes here missed something.” Pierce looks over at Bucky, and he can tell the other man is baiting him. He’s not in the mood.

“There’ve been a string of murders and you could potentially be connected to _all_ of them. I’d be taking this more seriously if I were you,” he states, expression unwavering.

Pierce’s smile doesn’t falter, but he does shut up for the moment, something that Bucky allows himself to feel a brief bit of pride over. Pierce leans back in his chair, still watching him.

“What was your relationship with Tony Stark?” Steve asks, bringing Pierce’s attention back to him. His eyes linger on Bucky before moving to Steve, and Bucky tries not to let it unnerve him.

“Tony? Why, is he in trouble?” Pierce doesn’t seem to be seriously concerned with how Stark is doing as he asks, his tone completely aloof. Bucky is beginning to think that Stark really hadn’t been that close to Pierce, and that their relationship in the media was all for show. It would definitely support Stark’s decision to partner with Schmidt without any regrets.

“No. You seem to be the only one, at the moment,” Steve replies smoothly, and Pierce’s little grin only gets wider. Bucky wishes he could punch it off his face.

“Hm. Well, that’s good to hear. I hope he keeps an eye out for trouble in the future, though. He always did have a knack for getting himself into sticky situations.”

“Why would he need to keep an eye out?” Bucky watches Steve lean forward a bit, interest peaked at the vague statement. “And what ‘situations’ are you referring to?”

Pierce laughs a little. “Trust me, you don’t want to know. I will say he’s a very free-spirited guy. But you already know his reputation, I’m sure. Anyway, my relationship with Tony was professional. We went golfing on weekends, had drinks when deals went through. The whole run-of-the-mill business relationship.”

“And what about him dumping you for Schmidt the minute you ended up in jail?” Bucky asks, hoping to coax a crack in Pierce’s façade.

Pierce looks over at him, his smile dimmed, as if he’s dealing with an impatient child. Bucky is starting to find that everything with this man is patronizing.

“Well, that’s disappointing, I’ll admit. But Tony’s his own man. He didn’t owe me anything. I just wish he’d picked a better business partner.”

“What about Quentin Greymore?” Pierce switches his attention back to Steve when he speaks, and he manages to look mildly confused while still having a little smile on his face.

“I’m afraid I don’t know who you’re talking about, detective.” He doesn’t sound entirely convincing to Bucky’s ears, although it’s difficult to tell considering he hasn’t dropped his arrogant tone the entire time. Still, it raises some alarm and he wonders if Steve hears the lack of reaction from Pierce, too.

“Quentin Greymore. Forty-six years old.” Steve repeats, pushing a photo of their victim across the table. Pierce glances down at it disinterestedly. “He was killed recently. He worked for Stark.”

Pierce sits back in his seat, a smug expression on his pale face. “Well then, I don’t know why you think I would know him, if that’s the case. I never had the chance to meet many of Stark’s employees.”

“He seemed to know _you_ well enough,” Bucky intervenes. “He had information about your illegal deals stored away. Documents, pictures. You name it.”

Pierce just gives him another condescending smile, as if he’s being patient with him. “That would’ve been helpful to have while I was being prosecuted then, I imagine. Wonder why he kept it to himself?”

“Because he was afraid for his safety,” Bucky replies, tone accusatory. “And it looks like keeping it to himself didn’t help him in the end.”

Pierce studies him seriously for a moment while Bucky glares back at him, refusing to look away. After a long moment the same smug expression returns to his face.

“I think you’re forgetting something important here, detective Barnes. I’m already in jail.” He looks like a cat toying with its prey as he replies. “Thanks to you. I’ve been here for months, in fact. So, why would I care what Mr. Greymore found out about me if I’m already locked away? And how, exactly, could I have anything to do with his death?”

Pierce’s expression is utterly self-satisfied, and Bucky grows tight-lipped at the sight of it. It’s true, Pierce _should_ have no reason to take Greymore out if he’s already been convicted. But Bucky can’t shake the feeling that he’s still involved in his death.

“Perhaps you’ve overlooked something? Maybe Greymore owed some thugs money? Was he a gambler?” Pierce continues on, playing his one-sided game with them. Bucky realizes then that they’re not going to get anything out of him.

“I think we’ve kept you from your prison gruel long enough,” he states, and Steve seems to be on the same page, because he stops the recorder and begins to put it away.

“Well, thank you for the visit gentlemen.” Bucky is beginning to think that Pierce’s condescending expression is just a permanent fixture on his face. It’s one that he can’t stand looking at much longer.

They wait for Pierce to be escorted out before gathering their jackets and leaving the room.

Bucky sighs as they walk down the hall toward the exit.

“Well that was a bust.”

He can hear the disappointment in Steve’s tone as he replies. “He never planned on being helpful. We shouldn’t be surprised by that.”

“Oh I’m not surprised. I would’ve been surprised if he’d actually told us anything. I think he just wanted to screw with us.” Pierce had kept his façade up the entire time. There was one point where Bucky actually thinks it may have worked against him, though. “Did you see how he acted when you asked about Greymore?”

Steve nods. “Yeah, he said he didn’t know who he was, but something about it seemed…”

“It was like he was just acting like he didn’t know him.”

Steve nods again. “Yeah. He may not have had any reason to kill Greymore, but I think he knew him, at least. I don’t doubt that he’s connected somehow.”

“Especially when Greymore knew so much about him,” Bucky supplies. There’s no way Pierce can’t be connected to Greymore’s death when the only thing they could find on him was the USB drive. There has to be a connection. “Pierce isn’t gonna hand us the answers, but it’s alright. I don’t wanna talk to his smug fucking face again anyway.”

Steve laughs a little, grinning over at him. “I could tell you weren’t having fun in there.”

Bucky turns to him, eyeing him critically. “What, and you were?”

He grins, holding the door open for Bucky as they leave the prison. “No, but I was kind of waiting for you to punch him.”

“Would you have stopped me?” Bucky questions, looking back over his shoulder as they both walk toward the car.

“You know, I can’t say I would’ve,” Steve replies, playful smile on his face. Bucky laughs, now regretting the lost opportunity. _Well_ , he thinks, _there’s always next time_. After all, he figures they’ll probably meet Pierce again now that he’s involved. And if he has to be in a room with him again, well… He might actually get put away himself for a stunt like that. But all he has to do is picture Pierce’s face again, and he knows it’d be worth it.

* * *

 

“How’s she doing?” Steve smiles back at him as Bucky walks down the hallway toward Steve’s apartment, a duffel bag in one hand and Dorothy in her carrier in the other.

“She’s okay. She’ll be happy to be let out though. She hates car rides.”

Steve gives her a sympathetic look as he unlocks the door to his apartment. He pushes it open and Bucky watches as Jackson immediately surges around it to greet him.

“Hey buddy!” Steve grins, crouching down as Jackson jumps all over him. “How ya been?”

Jackson licks at his face in response, and Steve laughs, petting him and ruffling his fur a little. He stands up after giving Jackson a couple more pats and Jackson takes the opportunity to move past him. He goes straight for Dorothy, completely ignoring Bucky, who lifts Dorothy’s cage a little so she doesn’t have to come face-to-face with the excited, happy, maybe _too_ -eager golden lab. Surprisingly, he doesn’t hear any hissing come from the carrier, but he does feel the weight in it shift toward the back as Dorothy tries to get away from the very curious Jackson.

“Jackson,” Steve warns, and he looks a little sheepish as he steps away from the cage and looks back at him. “Not yet, buddy. In fact, c’mere.” Steve lets go of Bucky’s suitcase that he’d been carrying in order to lead Jackson further into the apartment. Bucky imagines that he’s putting Jackson in his room so that Dorothy can have some time to herself while she explores her new temporary home.

Bucky walks through the door and takes a look around. The apartment building looked a little old from the outside, which surprised Bucky considering all the new buildings going up in Steve’s neighborhood. Steve’s apartment doesn’t look too worse-for-wear, though. It seems small, that’s for sure, but in a cozy way.

The kitchen is off to his left, and just beyond it he sees Steve carefully leave a room and shut the door behind him. He smiles over at him when he spots him standing there.

“Thought it’d be better if he’s put away for now, so he’ll stay in my room ‘til Dorothy has a chance to look around.”

“Sure. Probably smart,” Bucky replies, setting down his bag and the carrier. He shuts the front door behind him before moving to open the carrier so that Dorothy can leave it and look around. She does so cautiously, taking her time and poking her head out very carefully. Bucky just smiles, and Steve laughs a little.

“Seems like she’s not too sure about the place.”

Bucky watches as Dorothy sniffs along the ground. “Well, she’s seen Jackson now, and I’m sure she smells him, too. She’s never met a dog, so she probably doesn’t really know what to think.”

“I hope they get along.” Steve watches Dorothy with a look of concern, and Bucky straightens up, feeling a little amused yet also appreciative of the fact that Steve is so worried about his cat feeling at home here.

“Jackson’s never met a cat either, right?” Steve shakes his head in reply. “Well, then maybe he won’t know what to think either. They can start fresh. No prejudices or anti-cat or dog stuff, y’know?”

Steve smiles, looking amused at Bucky’s words. “Yeah, I guess. ‘No anti-cat or dog stuff.’”

“Exactly,” Bucky states, following Dorothy as she trails into the small living room. It isn’t much, but Bucky can say with certainty that he likes the plush, white carpet beneath his feet. It makes him wonder if he should’ve thought of that when he was out looking for his own apartment. The rest of the room is simple, with a single loveseat, a TV, a bookshelf, and another small shelf in the corner that holds thin, white books. Bucky thinks they might be sketchbooks, but then he can’t really tell from where he’s standing. He thinks the most interesting part of the room is the little nook in the corner. It’s a small little space with a window and a cushioned window seat. It, like the rest of the apartment, seems like a cozy little place. He suddenly gets the urge to sit there with a mug of hot coffee or tea and stare out at the street below.

“It’s not much, but I hope it’ll be alright for a while,” Steve says from somewhere behind him, and Bucky shakes his head a little.

“No, it’s…I love it, it’s great.” He looks over his shoulder to give him a smile. “Thanks.”

Steve looks a little embarrassed at that, and his hand moves to rub at the back of his head as his gaze travels to the floor. “Yeah well…I know it wasn’t your first choice, but I’ll try to make it okay for as long as you have to stay.”

Bucky feels a weight drop in his stomach at that, and he immediately feels the need to clarify what he said this morning.

“Steve.” He looks back to Bucky, and Bucky turns to face him more. “I really do appreciate all this. I just…this morning…whatever you _think_ I meant, that wasn’t it.” Steve just looks confused at Bucky’s attempt to explain what he meant, but Bucky doesn’t think he’s ready to tell him exactly what he’d been feeling earlier, and he doesn’t even know if he can really explain it in a way that will make him understand. He continues, struggling with trying to find a way to say things in a way that will make Steve feel better. “I didn’t say ‘no’ because I didn’t _want_ to stay with you or ‘cause I don’t like you or somethin’. I just…” He sighs, feeling a little frustrated with himself as he runs a hand through his hair.

“Hey.” Bucky looks up at Steve when he speaks. “It’s okay. You don’t have to explain yourself.”

“No, I do though,” Bucky replies quickly, now a little afraid that he won’t be able to fix what he’d said this morning. “’Cause I really appreciate everything. Seriously. And I don’t want you to think-"

“Bucky. It’s alright.” Steve’s looking at him earnestly now, and Bucky stops talking. “I get it.”

Bucky doubts he does, but at least he feels like Steve doesn’t have the wrong impression now. He nods a little, deciding to let it go. Steve gives him a little smile.

“Well, should we let Jackson out? We’re going to have to at some point, if you’re gonna get in there.” He turns and starts walking toward the bedroom, but Bucky follows after him, perplexed by his statement.

“What do you mean?”

Steve stops and looks back at him, face reflecting the expression on Bucky’s. “You’ll need to go in there to sleep…”

“I’m not takin’ your bed, Steve,” Bucky states, finality clear in his tone.

Steve turns toward him and crosses his arms, and Bucky can already tell he’s in for an argument if he wants to take Steve on with this one.

“You’re the guest, Buck, ‘course you’re taking the bed.”

“No, I’m not. I can sleep on the couch.”

Steve almost looks amused at this, and he raises a brow, eyes traveling over to the small loveseat. “You’re gonna try and fit on that?”

Bucky gives him a flat look. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

He swears Steve almost rolls his eyes at him then. “I have an air mattress Bucky,” Bucky goes to interrupt but Steve presses on before he can, “and I’m the only one who’ll be using it. You take the bed. I’ll be fine on the air mattress.”

He stares at him hard, and Steve stares right back, gaze unwavering. Bucky finally rolls his eyes and looks away, heaving a sigh. “Fine. But only for tonight. After that, we switch.”

“Bucky, c’mon-“

“No Steve, I’m already gonna be stealing your food and coffee, just let me sleep on the damn air mattress once in a while.”

Steve looks conflicted for a moment before he too huffs a sigh, this one much smaller than Bucky’s. “Alright, okay. Guess I won’t say no to that.”

“Yeah, you won’t.” Bucky raises a brow in challenge, a teasing smile on his face, and Steve looks as if he’s trying to hold back a laugh.

Bucky hears a weird scuffling sort of sound then, and he looks past Steve to where it seems to be coming from, Steve turning around to do the same.

Dorothy is by the door, head down and one paw out-stretched as she tries to get at something on the other side of it. She’s obviously playing, and most likely with Jackson, who suddenly makes a whining sound from the other side of the door. Bucky laughs, and gets a little closer to watch.

Steve moves closer too, and Dorothy immediately darts into the kitchen when she sees him coming. He takes the opportunity to grab the handle to the door and he opens it just a little, looking off in the direction Dorothy had run. Jackson whines as he tries to push it open more, obviously impatient, but Steve keeps holding it where it is, waiting for Dorothy to come back. She does a few seconds later, curiously slinking back over to where Jackson is pressed up against the crack.

She moves closer, poking her nose toward Jackson’s as she sniffs at him. He whines a bit, and Bucky wouldn’t be surprised if his tail is shaking uncontrollably behind the door right now, with how much he seems to want to leave the room. Steve apparently doesn’t think it’s a good idea quite yet, because he holds the door where it is while they get to know each other.

Dorothy finally decides that she’s had enough of looking at Jackson, and turns to walk away, only looking back when Jackson barks. Steve leans down a little to shush him.

“Jackson, stop that, we can’t bark at home, you know that.”

Bucky smiles at the fact that Steve says ‘we’, but he holds back from teasing him about it.

Jackson takes advantage of Steve opening the door a little more to nudge it open completely and dart out. He heads for Dorothy, tail swinging wildly, although he thankfully doesn’t run up to her. She watches him as he approaches and sniffs her, and Bucky holds his breath as he waits for her to hiss or attack him. She does neither, instead pawing at one of his feet curiously.

Steve sighs, letting his hand drop from the doorknob.

“Well, that didn’t really work out,” he states. Bucky crosses his arms with a little smile as he watches their pets.

“S’okay. It worked out fine.” And it looks as if things really will work out, as Dorothy rolls onto her side and paws at Jackson’s nose. He tries to dodge it, but is unsuccessful, and Dorothy gets up and follows him as he moves away. She suddenly leans up to rub against his face and he backs up, apparently having no idea what to do about that. Bucky laughs at the sight.

“It’s alright Jackson, she’s not gonna hurt you,” Steve says, clearly amused. He looks off toward Bucky’s things, still sitting by the front door. “Should we get your stuff put away?”

Bucky glances at his things too before looking back at Steve. “What, did you clear out a drawer for me, too?”

Steve manages to look sheepish as he replies. “No, I just figured you’d wanna put your stuff in my room, since that’s where you’re sleeping.” Bucky gives him a look, and he corrects himself. “Most nights…”

Bucky grins and shakes his head as he turns to get his things. “Alright. But only ‘cause I don’t feel like changing in the middle of the living room.”

“That reminds me, the bathroom’s through that door,” Steve nods toward a door off the living room as he bends down to pick up the duffel bag while Bucky grabs the carrier and his suitcase. “And the washer and drier are in that closet over there."

Bucky looks over toward where Steve tilts his head, eyes landing on a closet in the corner of the kitchen. “Alright, thanks.”

Steve leads him off to the bedroom, and Bucky spots Jackson watching Dorothy warily as she sits on the floor of the kitchen, bathing herself. He grins, following Steve into the room and setting his suitcase and Dorothy’s carrier next to where Steve’s placed his suitcase.

Looking around, he takes in the sight of the small room, and realizes that it’s fairly simple like the rest of the apartment. Bucky does think the queen-sized bed looks pretty comfortable, though. It might just be because of the old quilt sitting on top of the oversized comforter, but Bucky thinks that the entire apartment seems pretty warm and inviting, and this room is no exception.

He gets a thought then, having just noticed the absence of feminine touches, and he frowns, suddenly feeling a little awkward.

“What about Sharon?” he asks, and Steve looks over to him, confused. “She doesn’t live with you?”

Steve takes a moment to reply, as if he’s trying to process what Bucky just asked. “Uh, no…she doesn’t.”

“Oh…” He’d been pretty sure Sharon isn’t living with him based on the fact that Steve invited him to stay in the first place, but he’d wanted to be sure. He’d really rather not intrude, and he wonders if he’ll still be doing that when she comes over, or if she’s just going to stay away while he’s here. He’s kind of hoping for the latter.

Steve’s eyes widen suddenly as he seems to realize something.      

“She and I…we don’t…we’re not dating.”

Bucky’s mouth opens a bit in surprise, but he lets Steve continue.

“She’s a friend, and she was nice enough to come with me to the charity ball,” he clarifies, and Bucky takes a few seconds to let the sudden revelation sink in.

“Oh.”

He can’t ignore the sudden flare of relief he feels at that, even though he knows it’s entirely irrational. He hasn’t been aware of any signs pointing to Steve being attracted to him, and it isn’t something Bucky _should_ find himself wanting, considering he’d just decided to let himself be open with him earlier this morning. Bucky still doesn’t even know if he shouldn’t just try and squash down whatever it is he’s been feeling towards Steve, because it’s something he isn’t sure he’s even ready to feel. He can’t _really_ like Steve that much so soon after meeting him. Sure, he’s attractive, God is he attractive, Bucky had known that from when he’d first seen him. But Steve’s his partner, and Bucky can’t just start something with him in the hopes that it’ll be a fling. He doubts Steve is that kind of guy anyway. So if he wanted to have anything with him at all it’d be something more along the lines of an actual relationship. No way is he ready for that. He can’t be, considering he’s been telling himself he probably won’t ever have that. He’s told Natasha that, too. Hell, he’s told his _cat_.

There’s no guarantee Steve’s even attracted to guys anyway. He and Sharon are just friends, sure, but what if he’s totally straight?

“Um…I’m actually gay.”

Oh.

Bucky realizes that Steve is looking at him uncomfortably, and he doesn’t know if it’s because he’s now worried Bucky won’t be okay with him being gay, or if he’s worried about Bucky still being alright with staying with him, but either way he decides to disperse whatever fears he’s having immediately.

“Okay. Well I’m bi, so if you’re cool with that, then…”

Steve blinks, then smiles a little. “Yeah, sure. Of course.”

They fall into an awkward sort of silence after that, and Steve simply stands there for a few seconds, until Bucky raises a brow at him.

“Uh- I’ll just…you want anything to drink?” He starts toward the door, and Bucky lets him go, choosing to focus on getting out his toiletries to put away in the bathroom.

“Sure, I’ll take some water.”

“Okay,” he hears as Steve walks off toward the kitchen, and Bucky smiles down into his suitcase as he retrieves his toothbrush. After he gets all his things together he makes his way out toward the bathroom, spotting Steve in the middle of drinking from a tall glass of ice water as he passes through the kitchen. He sees another one sitting on the counter, and assumes it must be for him.

He goes about putting his things away, thankful that Steve has a medicine cabinet, and he realizes then that he could’ve just put his stuff away in the cabinet first before asking Steve about Sharon. The whole thing is barren except for a few of Steve’s things. Although then he would’ve only learned that she isn’t living with him instead of finding out that they’re not dating at all. Not that he should care in any way…just like he shouldn’t care about the fact Steve’s gay. Or that they’ll now be spending an inordinate amount of time together.

He pauses at the realization. They really will be spending a _lot_ of time together now, considering they’re supposed to drive to and from work together, then work on the case all day, and then come home and spend the rest of their time in the same apartment. Sure, he’ll go out and see Natasha or Clint or maybe his family, but other than that he and Steve will be seeing each other all the time.

He goes back out to the kitchen with this thought still in mind.

“So…we’re gonna leave for work together and then get back here at the same time and everything now, right?"

Steve looks up from where he’d been putting dishes away, a little taken aback by the question.

“Uh…yeah, we are. Well, except tomorrow,” he turns to put some drinking glasses into the cabinet, and Bucky takes a seat at the kitchen island. “I sort of do this thing where I teach an art class on Tuesdays at the VA over in Harlem. My friend Sam got me into it, it’s pretty fun.” Steve stops and looks over at him. “You’re welcome to come, if you want.”

Bucky gives him a little smile. “Nat’ll probably want me to come over tomorrow. Make sure I’m okay and getting settled and stuff.”

“Oh, sure.” Steve goes back to taking dishes from the dishwasher and places them in the cabinet next to the glasses. “Well I’ll get done around eight, so I’ll probably be home after that.”

“Okay.” It’s crazy to Bucky, the sudden way the domesticity of the whole situation hits him. He hasn’t lived with someone since before he run off and joined the military at seventeen. Even when Natasha had tried so hard to get him to move in with her after he came home, he’d insisted on living on his own. He’s become so used to it that now the aspect of living with someone else is almost like a foreign concept. He thought he might hate it, considering how eager he’d been to leave home when he was younger, but now he really isn’t sure how to feel. On the one hand, it’s nice knowing that there’ll be someone around most of the time. Almost reassuring. On the other, it’s a little intimidating to think that he won’t get the same sort of privacy he had before.

He ultimately decides to try and keep an open mind while he’s here, considering the fact Steve is helping him. It probably won’t be so bad, he thinks, especially due to the fact it’s only Steve, and he’d most likely understand better than most people if Bucky suddenly needs some kind of privacy every now and again. He’s actually suddenly grateful he _is_ staying with Steve, because Clint’s still recovering and Bucky would just feel like he has to help him with everything since he pretty much saved his life, and Natasha might have problems letting him out of her sight now. He can’t even _think_ about how things would have been had he moved home with his parents.

No, it’s probably for the best that he’s staying with Steve. Even if he’s hot and single and likes guys and Bucky probably will have to resist flirting with him the whole time now. Even when he didn’t know that Steve was single and liked men, he’d had a hard time with that. Now it’ll probably be even harder.

“Jackson’s been in since this morning, so I’m gonna take him on his walk.” Steve smiles over at him as he goes to grab a leash from a set of wall hooks near the door.

“I can come with you,” Bucky replies, already moving to stand.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to.” Steve leans down to hook Jackson’s collar up to his leash, the excited lab having already come running over after hearing the word “walk”.

Bucky gives him a smile. “I want to.”

Steve stops for a second, and Bucky thinks he actually looks a little shy. Then he smiles back at him before turning to leave. “Okay. We shouldn’t be out too long. I don’t want Dorothy to get scared being here alone.”

Bucky walks out after Steve, shutting the door behind him. “Don’t worry, she’ll be okay for a little bit.”

“Good. Um…” Steve stops and looks down at Jackson, before looking back up to Bucky. He takes a second, as if he’s deciding something, before offering the leash to Bucky. “You wanna walk him?”

Bucky smiles, taking the leash from his hand. “Sure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh! I'm so happy to be back with another update! This one took a little longer, and I'm going to blame the fact that it's the longest chapter yet (and also school, school is ridiculous). It looks like future chapters might start to become monsters too, so I'm sorry ahead of time if they take a little longer to update, like this one did.  
> The next chapter might also just take a while because my birthday is actually right around the corner, and I have no idea who might drag me out to celebrate or what's planned. So I'll try to compensate for that if I can!
> 
> I am totally cool if people want to come ask where I am with a chapter/when I think the next update might be/stuff about the story in general, so feel free to come into my askbox over on Tumblr and ask away! I have a link in my profile description but here it is in case it's more convenient: sunshine-pages-saving-graces.tumblr.com
> 
> Lastly, I just wanted to say that I am my own beta (which is okay by me), and although I try to be thorough about editing and making sure things make sense, I do sometimes miss things. Last chapter I actually missed something that, although not too important or plot-related, was still an embarrassing oversight. Luckily someone pointed it out to me early on so not too many of you had the chance to stumble upon it. So in the future, if anyone spots a mistake, whether it be a spelling error or a missing word or something that doesn't make sense, please let me know! I would really appreciate being told before I go back and read through a chapter (I sometimes do this to see if I can re-write anything to make it better), and I see something and I'm like "OMG WHAT THE HELL IS THAT!?" because that happens sometimes and it's not fun. So yeah.
> 
> Thank you all for reading/commenting/kudos...ing?/etc!  
> I really appreciate it and I'm just so glad that this story has the support it does. Thank you! :D  
> I'll see you all soon with the next update!


	10. “You an’ me, pal. Takin’ down the bad guys.”

**S** teve scratches at his head as he shuffles into the kitchen, his only thought this early in the morning being a fresh cup of coffee. He flicks on the light and squints, letting his eyes adjust to the sudden brightness before heading straight for the Keurig. After he gets a cup going, he opens the fridge so he can grab some things for breakfast. With the fridge open in front of him, however, he hesitates. The cool air and light pool out as he stares in at the contents.

Should he go about making himself breakfast, or should he make something for Bucky, too? Considering that this is his first morning here, Steve decides that he should probably be a good host and make something for the both of them. But then, how does he know what Bucky will like?

Steve sighs, and closes the door. Maybe he’ll just wait until Bucky wakes up.

In the meantime, he decides that there’s at least one plus to Bucky still being asleep. He walks quietly into the living area, and heads to the shelf with his sketchbooks, pulling out a blank one from the bottom shelf and bringing it back to the kitchen. He removes Bucky’s letters from between the pages and stacks them on the counter, staring at them for a long moment. 

Inhaling a deep breath, he picks the first one from the top of the stack, and opens it. There’s a photo inside, but he quickly places it face-down on the countertop so he doesn’t have to keep looking at it. He’d seen enough from the second he’d had his eyes on it. He doesn’t know who the man in the picture was, but as he reads through the letter, his answer comes soon enough. He tries not to think about how Bucky must have felt getting this first letter, but his imagination runs away despite his wishes. Feeling a little sick and plenty of concern for Bucky, he places the letter to the side and goes to open the next one. He’d only read one of the letters, and Natasha had summarized how bad the other ones were when she told him about them. He hadn’t been expecting her to catch him as he left Bucky’s apartment yesterday, but he’s glad that she did. He can’t imagine Bucky subjecting himself to any more of these.

The letters are deceitfully well-meaning, the author using polite words, writing that they’re concerned for Bucky to cover the thinly-veiled threats that lurk beneath. He notices that the last letter has a slightly angry tone even though it’s partially hidden beneath the false pretense of being polite and concerned for Bucky’s well-being. Bucky hasn’t read the last letter, and Steve is glad for that, because it mentions the crash. 

 

_…I am sorry to hear of your accident. However, apologies may not even be needed, as I have also been made aware that you did not obtain even a scratch. Do you think it fair, Detective Barnes? That your friend was able to save you in the nick of time, while you could not save your own?_

 

He’s especially glad Bucky hadn’t had the chance to read this letter.

At first, Steve thinks the letter is talking about Clint. He has no idea how whoever is sending the letters could know about Dugan, but then again they’d addressed Bucky as “Sergeant Barnes” multiple times. They at least know that Bucky had been in the army, and what his rank had been. They also knew he’d been deployed, judging by what’s written in some of the other letters.

 

_Does your life now remind you of your time overseas? Does the stress of it all remind you of running through battered streets, surrounded by the sound of gunfire and the fear that at any moment, your next breath could be your last?_

 

_What is it about this line of work that had you so interested? Is it the thrill? The sense of duty? Do you regret taking that promotion now, when the danger is so real? Perhaps your time in the army was similar. Perhaps you regretted your decision to enlist when you were surrounded by death and devastation. When you were in a foreign land, with no certainty of ever coming home again._

 

 _Do you feel safe now, Detective Barnes? Now that you are back home? Is that why you seem to disregard your own safety so easily?_

 

Steve had been especially bothered by those words. He’d had some of the experiences mentioned in the letters, and they’d managed to seep into his mind and rattle him where he couldn’t easily defend himself. But he’d managed resolve his thoughts so he could focus on the task at hand, and he read through the letters with the mindset of a soldier with a mission. He knows Bucky hadn’t done as well with separating himself from the content of the letters. It wouldn’t have been easy, especially when the words were directed at him. He feels a sense of relief at the fact that he won’t be reading them anymore, even if it means he’s the one who will have to do it now.

Still, the fact that the writer appears to know about Bucky’s time overseas is troubling, but maybe not so surprising. If they’re associated with the same people who can manipulate murder scenes, build armored vehicles, and kill a man based on secret information stored away on a USB, then learning a bit about Bucky’s history wouldn’t be hard. It wouldn’t be easy for someone to obtain _specific_ details about Bucky’s time in the army, but Steve definitely feels like he can’t rule it out at this point, especially with what the last letter had to say. 

The other letters don’t appear to hold anything significant about their case, or their safety. He doesn’t think that the letters would mention any future plans anyway, considering the last letter Bucky had received before the attempt on their lives had been no different than the ones he’d been receiving. They’re all filled with the same deceitful, manipulative words, and they all seem to have the same goal: to toy with Bucky’s mind. It’s clear to him the author is playing some sort of game. The letters aren’t straight forward or to the point or even blatantly threatening. Whoever is writing them is careful with their words, as if they’re trying to lull the reader into a false sense of security before they deliver some reminder of something from the past. Worse yet is that he can imagine that whoever is writing the letters is enjoying it.

He sighs, placing the letter he’d been reading back into its envelope. It’s a relief that it had been the last one, but he knows his work isn’t finished. Bucky will most likely get another letter soon, and he’ll have to analyze that one as well. He should probably go over these letters again too, in case he’d missed something, but for now he puts them away so they aren’t around when Bucky wakes up. They’re beginning to grate on him anyway, and he suddenly feels like he needs to be away from them.

Although he’s unsure of how much good bringing them into forensics will do, he places them into a bag so he can do just that. His fingerprints are now all over them, as are Bucky’s. He’s sure Natasha’s are on at least a few of them, if not all. If forensics can find two extra sets of fingerprints aside from his and Bucky’s, they may have their writer. Though, he certainly isn’t going to hold his breath. He’s almost positive that whoever’s been writing and delivering the messages for this long without getting caught is smart enough to not leave a trail. Still, it’s the only lead they have for now.

Stashing the bag in his work satchel, he sets it near the front door and grabs Jackson’s leash. He figures that he probably has time for his morning jog before Bucky gets up. Unfortunately, he runs the risk of _getting_ Bucky up due to the fact all of his clothes are in his bedroom, where Bucky is currently sleeping.

He really should have thought this through ahead of time.

Cracking open the door to his room, he peeks inside, eyes quickly landing on a lump of covers in his bed. Dorothy lays next to it, and she peers up at him as he sneaks into the room. He gently closes the door behind him, so that Jackson doesn’t have the chance to get into the room, before quietly moving over to his dresser. He quickly collects some clothes, and as he slides the drawer shut, he glances back over his shoulder toward the bed.

Bucky actually looks peaceful as he sleeps, and Steve is glad for it. After the stress he’s been through over the past week, sleep is probably one of the best things for him, and something he undoubtedly needs. His face is relaxed into a pout, and Steve might think he’s having a bad dream if he didn’t look completely at ease. With his hair mussed and a hand gripping the comforter, he can’t help but think Bucky looks a lot less troubled, even younger than he does when he’s awake somehow. He looks far more relaxed than he’s looked over the past week, and Steve lets his eyes trace over the pale softness of his skin, until it meets the place where his dark stubble begins, then on to the deep pink of his lips which Steve can’t help but compare to his own dry, pale ones that he always has in the morning. 

He frowns, wondering why they look that way. Maybe he bites them in his sleep?

The thought that’s been hovering in the back of his mind since he stopped and started looking, the one that tells him this is probably a little creepy, begins to make it’s way to the forefront.

In fact, he realizes, the longer he’s in here, the bigger chance there is of Bucky waking up and opening his eyes to see him standing there staring at him. With that terrifying thought, Steve quickly sneaks back out of his room and changes into his new clothes. Jackson wags his tail energetically when Steve grabs his leash, and with a grin and a little laugh, he hooks Jackson up and they both quietly leave the apartment and set out for their morning jog. 

* * *

 

 

Steve lets Jackson bound into the apartment once they’re back, slipping the leash back onto its hook near the door as he closes it behind them. The smell of coffee hits him, and he makes his way to the kitchen, spotting Bucky standing near the toaster with a bagel around his finger as he sips from a mug. Steve quickly notices that it’s the same mug he’d left in the Keurig before he’d forgotten about it.

Jackson prances over to Bucky and nudges the back of his thigh with his nose. The latter turns and smiles at him, setting down his (Steve’s) coffee and reaching down to give him a pet.

“Hey you. You go on a walk?” He directs his smile up to Steve. “You take him for a walk every morning?”

“Yeah. Well, I jog, he tries to stop and sniff everything” Steve replies, going to the cabinet and grabbing another mug for his coffee. Bucky stops him before he can open it.

“If you’re lookin’ for a coffee mug, you don’t need to. I made you another cup.” He tilts his head toward the Keurig and Steve spots the fresh cup of coffee sitting there. “Figured I should since I stole yours, and I needed to learn how to work one of those anyway. Hope you don’t mind me going through your cabinets to find your mugs. Only if you do I don’t really care, since you went through all of mine when you made tea.”

“You’re welcome,” Steve retorts, a little smile on his lips. He hears Bucky huff a laugh behind him as he adds some cream to his coffee, followed by the sound of the toaster going down as the other goes about toasting his breakfast.

“Didn’t know what you’d wanna eat, otherwise I would’ve gotten you a bagel, too.”

Steve turns around, leaning back against the counter. He takes a long sip of coffee and it immediately warms him up, his chilled fingers from his run outside de-thawing as they rest against the hot mug.

“Bagel’s fine…” He replies, catching sight of the jar of jam sitting on the counter. His nose scrunches. “…as long as it’s not with jam.” 

Bucky looks at him, offended. “Seriously? You don’t like jam on your bagels?”

Steve tries and fails to hide his smile behind his mug. “Cream cheese is the only way to go.”

The glare he gets in response is so overkill that he has to laugh, and he sees the other break into a grin before Bucky turns back around and shakes his head.

“You’re messed up, Rogers.”

Steve doesn’t argue with that, instead taking another sip of coffee before pushing off the counter and moving to stand next to Bucky. “So I guess I’m making my own bagel then?”

He watches Bucky heave a sigh as he retrieves his toasted bagel and places it onto a plate. “Well, I’m feelin’ pretty offended at your bad taste in spreads right now, but I _guess_ I can make you a bagel.” 

He smiles as Bucky gets out another one from the plastic bag and places it in the toaster.

“But don’t expect me to put cream cheese on it for you,” he continues. “That’s _your_ bad choice to make.”

Steve sets down his mug and raises his hands in surrender as he steps away toward the fridge. “Alright, alright.” He opens it and stops for a second, glancing sidelong over at Bucky. “You know some people put cream cheese _and_ jam on their bagels, right?”

Bucky pauses in spreading the jam on his bagel, then slowly looks over at him, disgusted. “Stop it, you’re gonna make me puke.”

Steve grins as he grabs the cream cheese.

“What kinda stuff do you like to eat, anyway?” Bucky asks, with an innocence so forced that Steve has to question it.

“What do you mean?” 

Bucky looks over at him as he wipes the jam off the knife with a napkin before using it to spread the cream cheese. “I mean I need to know what you like if I’m gonna buy food.”

“Why, are you thinking about ordering something in tonight?”

Bucky stops spreading to look at him, incredulous.

“Steve. If I’m livin’ here I’m helping out with groceries,” he states, and the next look he gives Steve lets him know that there isn’t room for argument. Steve hasn’t let that same look stop him in the past. 

“No, Bucky, don’t worry about that.”

“Don’t worry about what, Steve, food? ‘Cause y’know, we kind of need that to live.”

Steve sighs to himself. He isn’t used to this much snark in the morning.

“I just don’t think you should have to worry about it. You’re kind of being forced to stay here, so-“

“You didn’t _force_ me to do anything. You and Natasha don’t run my life, Steve.”

Steve easily catches the defensiveness in his tone. “No, I didn’t mean it like that, I just-“

“Look.” Bucky cuts him off, his tone a lot calmer than it’d been a second ago. “I know what I said yesterday, but I thought we got that cleared up. I don’t mind staying here, and I appreciate you letting me. Seriously.” Bucky looks at him imploringly, and Steve gives a little nod in reply.

“I know, Buck.”

“Alright, so you need to let me pitch in around here. You want me to feel comfortable, right?” he asks, raising a brow in his direction as he takes a bite of his bagel.

Steve gives him a flat look. “You knew that would work, didn’t you?”

Bucky starts to laugh before he’s even finished speaking, and Steve glares at the smug look on the other’s face.

“You know, you only _act_ tough, Rogers. I know how to make you crack.”

Steve smiles at this. “Oh, really?”

“Yeah, really,” Bucky replies, still grinning as he sips at his coffee.

Steve shrugs and picks up his bagel.

“You might’ve won this time, Barnes, but don’t even _think_ about doing the dishes,” he quips.

“Just try and stop me, Rogers.” 

Steve pauses, considering. “Alright, dishes once in a while is fine, but I’m cutting you off at cleaning the bathroom.” 

There’s quiet for a short moment, as Bucky looks at him flatly. “Reverse psychology is only gonna get you so far, Steve.”

“Well, had to try didn’t I?” 

Bucky smirks. “Sure you did.”

There’s a lull in the conversation as they eat, but Steve finds himself content to simply watch Bucky play with Dorothy from where he stands, moving his foot around so she tries to catch his toe. She succeeds a couple times, and when she bites down on it Steve laughs to himself as Bucky gripes to her about the pain.

He manages to finish before Bucky, since the other is distracted, and he places his mug in the sink before walking off toward his room.

“I’m gonna take a shower. Did you want one?” He stops just before he enters and looks back at Bucky.

“Nah, you go ahead. I’ll start getting ready,” he replies, finishing off his coffee and bending down to scratch behind Dorothy’s ear.

“Alright.” It only takes a moment to get his work clothes and head back out to the bathroom. As he heads through the kitchen he slows, watching Bucky clean up the mess from breakfast.

“So…” He starts, and Bucky looks over at him. “What are you making us for lunch?”

He gets a laugh, and Bucky shakes his head in disbelief. “Who am I, Mrs. Cleaver?”

“Well, you _did_ say you were gonna pitch in around here…” 

Bucky straightens, pointing a finger at him. “Yeah, well I stop at packing your lunches and cleaning the toilet.”

Steve tsks. “Darn, well there go my hopes of having a live-in maid.”

At first Bucky scoffs, but then Steve smiles at the grin that appears. “Go take your shower.”

“I’m goin’, I’m goin.” He continues to the bathroom, still smiling to himself as he closes the door behind him. 

* * *

 

Steve gets away from Bucky as they walk in the door to the office with the excuse that Fury needs to see him, actually needing to sneak away to forensics but hoping the lie is solid enough for the other to believe him. Bucky actually offers to go with him, and it takes him by surprise enough that he almost agrees to it, but he recovers and manages to get out that it isn’t about the case and that he should be fine on his own. He leaves the office not knowing whether Bucky really believed him or not, but as long as the other doesn’t follow him, he thinks it’s worth the lie.

Forensics tell him they’ll give him a call when they’re through, and Steve leaves with small hopes. If the writer is careful, then they’ll most likely only find 3 individual prints, and they’ll be able to immediately rule out two of them, since Steve informed them ahead of time that he and Bucky had touched the letters. The last set will most likely be Natasha’s, who’d given him a set of prints on a business card ahead of time for comparison, so that might be the final match and if that’s the case… He frowns, knowing they’re probably out of luck on this one.

He spots Bucky on the phone when he exits the elevator, noticing the frown on his face as he gets closer. He shoots him a questioning look when Bucky looks up at him, but the other just shakes his head in reply and begins writing something down. 

“Alright. Yes, thank you. We’ll see you soon. Okay…bye.”                                       

He ends the call and sighs, running a hand through his hair. 

“What’s going on?”

Bucky looks at him, hair in disarray and expression dour.

“Mrs. Greymore skipped town.”

Steve’s mouth opens slightly with his surprise. It takes a moment for him to reply.

“What?”

Any other time he gets the feeling Bucky would tease him over his artful response, but as the situation stands, he seems too subdued.

“Yeah. Just talked with her friend. She left yesterday.”

Steve’s mind begins to sift through reasons and possibilities as Bucky continues.

“Apparently she couldn’t tell me much over the phone because someone could’ve been listening,” Bucky’s tone lets him know that he’s doubtful of this, but at this point and with what they’ve learned Steve knows anything is possible. “But she left yesterday and we have no way of contacting her.”

“So her friend wouldn’t tell you where she went.” Steve doesn’t blame her entirely, but this investigation is the closest thing to help that Mrs. Greymore could have at this point. She would be safer under police protection.

“Nope. But she _is_ willing to talk.” Bucky hands him the paper slip that he’d been writing on. Steve looks it over before nodding to himself and turning back toward the elevator.

“Alright, let’s head out.”

“Uh.”

He stops and looks back. Bucky seems apprehensive, and he raises a brow, waiting.

“So, well. She said she’s had some trouble in the past with detectives, she wouldn’t elaborate, but. She said she’ll only see one of us.”

His immediate thought is, of course, _absolutely not_ , though he tries to voice his opinion in a different way.

“That doesn’t sound like a good idea.”

Bucky sighs. “I _know_ , I know it’s not but look, this is the only way she’s willing to do this. We don’t have access to Mrs. Greymore at all, but she does, and you know we could get some pretty important information from this.”

He pauses, weighs their options. Bucky is right, but at the same time he feels as though _he_ makes a compelling argument as well. After all, someone _has_ attempted to kill them. Twice, in Bucky’s case. They’re most likely still out there, and this would be a great set-up…

“I’m going with you,” he states, continuing on before Bucky can interrupt. “We can decide in the car who’s going to do the interview, but we drive there together.”

He receives an incredulous look. “So what, one of us is just gonna wait in the car? What help’s that gonna be?”

“It’s _gonna_ be helpful, because one of us will be right outside. If anything suspicious happens then it’s easier for one of us to tell when we’re sitting right there than if we’re here, with no idea what’s going on.”

The stare-down that follows is short-lived, and Bucky breaks eye contact first as he gives a sigh. “Fine, but if she refuses the interview, I’m blaming you.” He points at him, and Steve raises both hands.

“She doesn’t even have to know someone is waiting.” After that, Bucky looks a little more open to the idea, so he decides to move while he has the upper hand. “Should we get going then?”

Bucky rolls his eyes, but then gives a smirk as he brushes by him. “Shotgun.”

Steve is overtly cautious as he drives to their destination in Forest Hills, and he even takes a route that’s a little longer than the suggested one on his phone. It costs them a few extra minutes, but at least he can throw off anyone who has any clue of where they might be heading. Although, with the way Bucky is describing the woman he’d talked to, Steve doubts anyone will have a clue. She seemed extremely cautious and protective, unwilling to tell him much over the phone. It makes Steve wary, because they know almost nothing about her or where they’re going, and he finds himself thinking of worst-case scenarios.

Bucky, on the other hand, seems relatively calm the entire ride, although his attention is constantly out the window. He doesn’t converse much either, aside from a couple of short, unremarkable instances. Steve wonders if he’s simply no longer as comfortable in cars.

He’s wondered before if there’s a safer way for them to get around, but aside from having a tracker on their cars so the department knows where they are, he couldn’t come up with any feasible options. The subway, while allowing them to remain anonymous in a crowd, would prove disastrous should they be targeted. If someone tries to set up a trap for them then it could potentially be tens or hundreds of lives at stake. Driving, while still dangerous for other people, is much safer in comparison. They’d been able to prevent anyone else getting seriously hurt last time, so he thinks that driving seems to be the best option they have for now.

They arrive at the address in the suburban neighborhood a little over an hour later. The house they pull up to is modest compared to the house Steve had visited during the Bonnie Ambley case, but it’s definitely more spacious than his apartment. Still, it’s nice, even if it does look like almost every other house on the street, and Steve thinks he wouldn’t mind living in a neighborhood like this someday if he were to get married and have a family. Of course, the neighborhood would have to be close to his work. And in Brooklyn. So he may as well give up on the idea while it's only a notion.

Bucky unbuckles his seat belt and Steve watches him, one brow raised. When he catches the look, he deadpans.

“Please. You thought you were goin’ in?”

Steve gives a little sigh and turns forward while Bucky gets out of the car. He leans back in before closing the door.

“I’ll text you when I’m in.”

Before he can ask _how_ , Bucky’s closing the door and walking off toward the house. He watches closely as the other makes his way up the path and the front porch steps, and he catches the curtains shifting as Bucky knocks on the door. It’s then he realizes that all of the curtains are drawn, and it’s a fact that makes something uneasy settle in his stomach, because Bucky won’t be visible from the outside. The only redeeming factor in all of this is the same thing that has him worried: the secrecy of the woman Bucky had talked to. If she’s trying to hide from someone, then it makes sense for her to block out prying eyes, and if the people she’s trying to hide from are the same ones trying to kill them, then Bucky is probably safer inside than Steve is right now.

He tries not to get too anxious when Bucky disappears through the front door, after a very short conversation. He catches a glimpse of a boy, who can’t be older than sixteen before the door closes. The fact that there’s someone else in the house that the woman hadn’t mentioned is an additional reason for him to be unnerved, but then again the boy hadn’t looked all that strong, and he doubts he’d be part of a group of criminals. Although he’s sure they sometimes do recruit them young. He tries not to think about that.

As he sits in the car he realizes that he probably should have brought something for him to do beside stare at the front of the house. Then again, if he keeps staring he’s sure not to miss anything. Bucky would be the one better suited to this though, he thinks, having been a sniper. Steve feels like he can sit and to a stakeout just fine, but he knows that with Bucky inside he’ll start to grow anxious and restless, like he had whenever he’d watched his men enter a building and had to wait for some sign they were okay.

Thankfully he’s cut from his thoughts by his phone buzzing. Some of his fears are alleviated when he sees that its from Bucky, and he wonders how he’d managed to sneak a text without being noticed. When he reads it he realizes that he’s probably typed it out in two seconds.

_‘fnie’_

He sits there trying to decipher the text for a moment, before his mind thinks to switch some letters around. As long as Bucky is ‘fine’ he has nothing to worry about, and the fact that it had been a typo alleviates any suspicions of someone else typing it.

His phone buzzes again in his hand, this time with a call. Natasha’s name pops onto the screen and he answers before the second ring.

“Hey Natasha.”

“Hi Steve,” she replies, friendly, her tone a complete 180 from what he’d witnessed yesterday. “How are you?”

“I’m…” his eyes shift to the house, assessing. “…hangin’ in there. How are you?”

“Same.” Her response is amused. In the background he can hear the sound of heels clicking on a tile floor.

“Are you at work?”

“Yeah, I’m taking a break to check in.”

His eyes scan the windows of the house, looking for any changes. “Okay, that’s…thanks.”

Natasha’s tone is bemused when she speaks next. “Are you okay? You seem…distracted.” He stiffens a little in his seat, glad that she can’t see him.

“Yeah, uh, fine, just working on the case. Any new letters?”

Natasha gives a little sigh. Her steps change, and Steve thinks she must be going down some stairs. “Not when I checked this morning. I haven’t been home since then but I’ll check when I get back.”

“Let me know what you find.”

“Of course. And Steve?” His ears perk up.

“Yeah?”

“Don’t work too hard,” she says playfully, and he smiles to himself.

“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”

They say their goodbyes and Steve is once again left alone with his thoughts and the house in front of him. There isn’t anything new from Bucky, not even a one-letter text of reassurance, and he finds himself regretting not establishing some form of communication beforehand. He sucks it up and waits, constantly on high-alert and never letting his eyes stray from the house for too long.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been sitting there when Bucky emerges, but when the other reappears he feels a weight lift from his stomach, and he relaxes back into his seat, suddenly exhausted. He allows a glance at his phone to see that it’s been about forty minutes since Bucky went inside.

Thankfully, things seem to have gone well, and Bucky comes toward the car with a little smile, holding up a bag of what look to be cookies. Steve feels the urge to slam his head against the steering wheel over worrying for apparently no reason.

Bucky slides into the passenger seat and takes a long look at him.

“Have fun out here?”

The glare is immediate and automatic, and Bucky grins at it.

“Aw, don’t worry, I’m back so you don’t have to be all lonely and brooding no more.”

“Wasn’t brooding,” he replies, starting up the car and starting their journey back to the office.

“Well, whatever you were doing out here, it looks like it put a permanent dimple between your eyebrows.” Bucky’s little grin is still on his face as he opens the bag of cookies. Steve self-consciously readjusts his expression into something more relaxed without him noticing. Suddenly, what looks to be an oatmeal raisin cookie hovers in front of his face. “Cookie?”

Since it’s right in front of him, he takes a bite, at first disappointed when Bucky takes the rest back for himself, but then not minding so much after a bit of chewing. He glances over and sees that the bag is almost full, and wonders how they’ll get through them.

“Those are _dry_ ,” he states, watching Bucky finish off the cookie. “How many of those did you eat in there?”

Bucky shrugs. “Dunno. Four maybe?”

He wonders if the one Bucky is currently on is his fourth or fifth, and at the same time thinks about whether or not the cookies could possibly have something in them. It’s doubtful, at this point, considering how many Bucky has eaten, but he starts to think about the nearest hospital just in case Bucky passes out or starts frothing at the mouth.

“How did you eat that many,” he wonders aloud, a little concerned with Bucky’s apparent lack of taste buds.

“I stress eat,” Bucky mumbles defensively, keeping his gaze out on the road.

Steve can tell he isn’t about to get any information while the cookies are distracting Bucky, so he promptly steals them.

“Hey!” Bucky reaches out but Steve quickly plops the bag snuggly between his thighs and looks over at him with finality. Bucky stares back, unperturbed.

“If you think I won’t go there pal, you’re sorely mistaken.”

He ignores the sudden warmth in his face in favor of getting Bucky to talk about the interview.

“What happened in there?” His eyes trail down to his lap. “And why’d she make so many cookies?”

Bucky chuckles softly, apparently abandoning the cookies for now, thankfully.

“Dunno, maybe she thought if I was a bad guy she might convince me to leave her be with some homemade baked goods. I was just as surprised as you when I went in and she offered me some. There was tea, too, by the way.”

Steve’s brows draw in confusion. “Why was she afraid of us?”

Bucky’s light-hearted demeanor sobers a bit, his face falling into something more serious. “She was threatened before. You remember the civilian who died in the first case?”

“Yeah, I think so.” He forces his mind to work at remembering the name, sifting through the others that have come up over the course of he case. “Ben Parker?”

“Yeah. That was his wife, May. She’s in hiding now, since two guys disguised as detectives came to her house after Ben Parker’s death and told her she had one chance to leave town and never speak to police. Even threatened her nephew.”

“So she’s reluctant to talk to anyone now.” It makes sense, although now his stomach sinks with the knowledge that these people behind the murders keep showing themselves to be more resourceful and determined than they anticipate.

“Yeah. She never spoke to anyone about her husband either, ‘til today. She was supposed to. That same day those guys showed up? She was scheduled to meet with Clint and Morita.”

He’s about to ask if they missed her, if she left town before they could get to her, but then Morita’s voice sounds in his head. _“The day after the accident, we were driving to interview the family of the second victim, and somebody hit us.”_

“They got her to leave while their associates took out Morita and Clint.” He looks over and catches Bucky’s surprise. “Morita told me, on our first case.”

“Yeah, well then you know I ended up replacing him after that. And the same thing almost happened to us.”

“They’re keeping us away from family members of the victims.”

“It’s a lot of trouble to go through, but in this case, it was almost worth it for them. May Parker knew quite a bit.”

Steve shakes his head, still trying to work through it all. “What did she say?”

“Well, Ben Parker worked for SHIELD, and he left his job there before his death. Turns out, he’d been collecting info on his boss.” It doesn’t take too much for Steve to figure out who Bucky is talking about.

“Pierce?”

Bucky nods, lips a thin line. “Yup. Parker saved all the information on a USB.”

“The one we have.”

Bucky shakes his head. “Not according to Mrs. Parker. See, her husband didn’t want to get her involved, so he didn’t tell her too much, but she _did_ notice that he went out and got a new USB the week before he left SHIELD.”

 _Smart_ , Steve thinks. “So we have one of them.” But then, that means… “Where’s the other?”

“Mrs. Parker said she looked for both and couldn’t find either of them. He probably had one on him when he died, and if they had someone ready at the scene when those cars collided-“

“They took it. And the other one ended up with, who, Greymore?”

Bucky nods again, and explains, “Mrs. Greymore and Mrs. Parker are friends, but they met through their husbands. Quentin Greymore and Ben Parker go way back, and since Parker didn’t want to lose the information, he gave one to Greymore for safe-keeping. It was lucky he did too, poor guy didn’t realize he’d been found out and that things would end up the way they did.”

“Greymore gave the USB to his friend at work when he realized Parker was killed deliberately,” Steve says, and wonders at what point Greymore figured that out, and knew that he’d be next.

“That’s what I’m thinking. I don’t know if he added anything to it or not, but whoever found out about what he had thought it was worth it to take him out and wipe his computer,” Bucky states, then frowns. “Bet they looked high and low for the second USB too.”

“What else?”

Bucky sighs. “Well, I didn’t get to talk to Mrs. Greymore, but Mrs. Parker’s been in frequent contact with her since Quentin Greymore died. She suspected his death might be connected to husband’s, and she knew she was right after Mrs. Parker was threatened.”

Steve connects the dots. “She was threatened the same day we were supposed to meet her.”

Bucky shakes his head, expression dark. “No. She was threatened before. She wanted to meet with us so she didn’t leave, until she found out what happened to us and got scared.”

He frowns. “Then who…“ He trails off, one name on the tip of his tongue, but unsure if it’s the right one, almost hoping it isn’t. He says it anyway.

“Zola.”

Bucky’s response is icy. “Yeah.”

It’s quiet for a long moment as Steve processes. _Zola_. He’d always had a feeling about the guy, of course. Someone so unsettling, who seems to be at the wrong places at all the right times. Who acts like he knows too much. He's definitely worthy of suspicion, but this is...something else.

“What did he do?”

Bucky shrugs, and Steve picks up on the fake nonchalance. Bucky’s rattled. “She didn’t say much, only that he said he was worried for her safety. Mentioned some bad people he knew that wanted her to keep her mouth shut, and she’d regret it if she talked to police. Freaked her out, but she kept her cool and told him to leave.”

“So why didn’t she call police? Or come to us?” Again, he thinks, they would’ve been the safest choice, but then Bucky looks over at him, almost defensive as he answers.

“She wanted to stay and bury her husband, and she knew we were coming so she held out to talk to us in person.” He continues, quieter now as he turns his attention out at the road again. “She wanted to help us. She thought they didn’t know about our meeting, and if she didn’t call police and just laid low she could tell us about Zola.”

“But that never happened,” Steve points out, and Bucky sighs and rubs at his face.

“No. But we’re here now.”

 _True_ , Steve thinks. And they’re lucky to be, with the type of people looking to keep them from figuring out this case. They’re obviously unafraid of going to any lengths, and keeping one step ahead of them will be a problem. But he feels as though they’ve at least made _some_ progress today.

“Alright. So we bring Zola in,” he says, planning their next step. “Make him talk.”

Bucky’s quiet for a moment, and Steve forgets why before remembering the benefit, and the scene of Greymore’s death. But then Bucky speaks.

“Well, if someone’s gotta do it, it’s gotta be us.” 

There’s a strange combination of admiration and worry that he feels then. Being willing to face Zola is brave, sure, but _should_ Bucky see him again? Steve recalls the aftermath of the last meeting they had, and feels a tug in his gut at the idea. “We can’t let him go free after what he did,” he says carefully, trying to be supportive of Bucky’s decision for now. “I didn’t think he could be capable of threats. But if what Mrs. Parker told us is coming straight from Mrs. Greymore-“

“It is. She isn’t lying.” Bucky glares ahead, and Steve thinks his conviction is coming from his belief that Zola is capable of something like this. He can’t argue against it, and he won’t, after knowing Zola and seeing how he’s been with Bucky in the past. Suddenly it makes sense that he’d try and get under his skin, if he’s playing a part in all of this.

He grips his steering wheel, sharing some of Bucky’s determination. “We’ll get him.”

“Sure we will,” Bucky replies with a little grin, and Steve immediately feels the atmosphere lighten again, tension disappearing. “You an’ me, pal. Takin’ down the bad guys.”

“They won’t know what hit ‘em,” he replies, a smile of his own tilting his lips.

Bucky doesn’t respond after that, and he the car slowly grows quiet. At first it seems like they’re both just content to focus on their own thoughts, but then Steve begins to wonder what Bucky’s could be. He could be formulating a plan for later, when they interrogate Zola. Or he could just be thinking about the man himself, which, considering their history, may not be a good thing.

The silence seems to grow thicker with each passing second, that lightness fading again, and Steve thinks back to when he’d noticed Bucky getting caught up in his own thoughts before, the week he was hiding the letters. Suddenly the silence seems almost unbearable, and he scrambles for something to break it.

“You did good back there.”

Bucky scoffs. “You tryin’ to patronize me? I’ve been around this job longer than you have y’know.”

He can tell by his partner’s expression that he isn’t actually offended, but still he feels the need to explain himself anyway. “No. I just thought I’d tell you what I thought. That’s all.” He spares a sincere glance in Bucky’s direction.

He’s treated to a grin and a raised brow for his efforts. “Well I _do_ have a knack for getting people to like me.”

He huffs a laugh in response, but it’s purely self-deprecating. “Sure. You’re much better at it than me, at least.”

Bucky’s quiet for a few seconds, then gives a little shrug. “I don’t think that’s true. You get people to like you just fine.”

A hundred rebuttals shoot through his mind, but he shakes his head, and says, “Not always. Not like you." 

Bucky goes quiet again, and when he speaks his tone is softer, devoid of its earlier playfulness. “Yeah, well. Anyone who’s got half a mind’ll end up liking you.”

That makes him smile, even though a part of him is a little unwilling to believe it based on previous experiences. Although if he’s gotten Bucky to like him, along with Morita and Coulson, then he supposes he isn’t doing too badly. And of course there’s Stark, but that’s a mystery he’s not ready to actually contemplate yet.

He’s almost positive at this point that he and Bucky are friends, but he decides to press the limits a bit, just in case.

“Well then I guess we should try and find the other half of your brain then, huh?”

“Hey now,” Bucky starts, gaze moving away from the outside to meet his with one dark brow raised. “Who said I liked you at all?”

The laugh Steve gives seems loud in the small space of the car, and Bucky grins at him.

“You sayin’ you don’t like me Bucky Barnes?" 

Bucky lets out a sigh and leans back in his seat. “I’m sayin’ you’re _okay_ , Steve Rogers.” 

“Is that so?” He asks, glancing over.

“Yeah, it’s so,” Bucky replies, folding his arms over his chest. “And sometimes maybe I like you a little bit. Maybe.”

“Well. As long as you know that your charm doesn’t work on me, then I guess we’re even.”

He feels Bucky’s gaze on him, and he keeps himself from tensing as he watches the road.

“Oh man, really? Not even a _little_?”

Steve tries not to smile at the hint of sincerity he detects hidden within Bucky’s sarcasm. “Nope. Can’t fool me. I’ve spent too much time with you. I know all your tricks.”

He keeps his eyes ahead but he can still feel Bucky watching him, almost knows instinctively now that there’s a smile on his face. “We’ll see Rogers. We’ll see.” 

* * *

 

Arnim Zola sits silently at the metal table in the interrogation room. Right now his hands are folded neatly on top of the table, but every once in a while he’ll fidget, then place them back where they were, left over right. Steve watches him glance toward the door every moment or so, obviously waiting for it to open. He doesn’t appear to be too nervous, although he was obviously caught off-guard when he was brought in, and the fact that he can’t sit still now is revealing. Steve hopes the fact that he doesn’t know why he’s here will work to their advantage.

Standing next to him is Bucky, watching their suspect through the one-way glass. He’s managed to keep his gaze steady but Steve can tell his mind is busy, undoubtedly preparing himself for the interrogation. They’ve left Zola alone for twenty minutes now, partly in an effort to throw him off and make him uncomfortable, and partly because they’re waiting for the results of the search of the Greymore residence and of Zola’s home. 

The former appear to be ready, as an officer steps in and motions them outside.

They’re walked through key items of note that were brought in, however the one thing that stands out to both of them is the plant.

It appears to be an ordinary potted lily, even when it’s explained that Zola had apparently gifted it to Mrs. Greymore when he’d arrived to interview her. However, it’s clearly no longer a gesture of sympathy when it’s explained that one of the officers found an audio bug near the stem of the plant, hiding under a leaf.

Bucky turns the bug over in his hands, expression contemplative.

“I think this’ll be enough. To take him down.”

Steve agrees. With this, they’ll have enough evidence to have a case against Zola. If they’re lucky and the bug also caught the interview he had with Mrs. Greymore, then it’s almost a certainty that he’ll be convicted. He thinks Zola would have been smart enough to prevent the bug from catching _that_ conversation, but then again he didn’t take any measures to get rid of the bug before police could find it, so Steve can’t be so sure of that. 

“Did it pick up anything?” He asks, wondering where it had been feeding to.

The officer gives a shrug. “If it did then it would have been recorded somewhere. The others aren’t back from searching the suspect’s home, but if it’s anywhere…”

“Right. It’d be there.” Steve nods. “Thanks.”

He’s left alone with Bucky, who continues to examine the bug.

“What do you think his story will be?”

Steve watches him. “There’s only one way to find out,” he says, and Bucky nods. It’s a slight thing, unsure, and it’s enough for his mind to travel back to the moment he’d seen Bucky standing in front of Zola at the benefit, eyes wide and almost terrified. When he speaks again, his voice is soft and steadfast.

“I told you before you don’t ever have to see him again. And I meant what I said, Bucky. This doesn’t have to be-“

“I know,” Bucky replies, still looking down at the bug. “Thanks. I’m just…” Bucky bites his lip in thought. Then his eyes meet Steve’s again, clear with determination. “Mrs. Parker is in hiding. She’s afraid for her life, and her nephew’s. And Mrs. Greymore just ran away from everything she’s known so she can keep her family safe. She lost her husband, and then she was _threatened_ when she tried to talk to police. And that man,” he points a finger out the door, fury brimming over into his expression. “he’s sitting in there, calm as anything and thinkin’ he’s gonna get away with that.”

There’s a moment then, when Steve simply stares. Watches the anger and determination and disgust clear as day on Bucky’s face, never ebbing. He nods.

“Okay. Let’s get him.”

Bucky doesn’t smile, only clutches the bug and places it into his pocket. “Yeah. You wanna lead?”

“It’s your call.” His answer gives Bucky pause, but when he looks back at him, it’s with a familiar cocky smile that gives him a sense of relief.

“Alright, let’s take him down.”

Zola waits down the hall, still alone in the interrogation room, but Steve stops Bucky before they can join him.

When he looks back at him, Steve catches a glimpse of familiar anxiety, something Bucky had been hiding before. “ _What?_ ”

His tone is sharp enough to instill a small amount of doubt and fear within Steve, but he doesn’t address it. He can put his faith in this, so long as Bucky knows he’s watching his back.

“When we’re in there, if you need a minute…” His voice trails as he thinks of some sort of signal or phrase Bucky can give him while they’re in front of Zola.

“Donuts,” Bucky suddenly replies, a little smirk on his lips.

Steve is momentarily confused, until his mind flashes to Clint. “That’s your signal? You want to try and fit _donuts_ into a sentence?”

“Relax, I can do it.” He shrugs, then pats Steve’s shoulder. “And, just so we’re clear, I’m the bad cop.”

He recognizes the mask of confidence but decides not to press. If a mask is what Bucky needs right now, then Steve won’t ask him to get rid of it.

“Guess that makes two of us,” he says smoothly, his words sincere. He doesn’t want to be the one to play “good cop” for Zola, either.

“Alright then. Follow my lead.” He doesn’t hesitate before opening the door, and Steve lets his face fall into something determined and vaguely threatening as they enter. He sees Zola look over at Bucky, and a smile that sets something dreadful stirring in his stomach appears on his face. It’s gone a second later when Steve appears, as if he doesn’t approve of the extra company. Steve is glad that he seems to have that effect on him, especially if it keeps that disturbing smile at bay.

Zola’s eyes fall to the plant in Steve’s hands, and he seems confused. There’s a fear present as well, an expression that Steve catches before it’s quickly subdued. He sets the plant on the table and sits beside Bucky, watching as their suspect’s eyes stay mostly glued to the plant, only moving to glance at Bucky every so often.

For his part, Bucky seems to be doing a steady job of keeping his expression neutral. Steve is sure he’s uncomfortable, at the very least, but he can’t help but feel some sort of pride at the fact Bucky isn’t giving Zola any sort of benefit.

He waits for him to take the lead, and the silence only lasts a few seconds longer before Bucky starts the questioning.

“Look familiar?” He asks, nodding toward the plant. Zola glances at it before looking back at Bucky with a tight smile.

“The white lily. A symbol of innocence and sympathy. I gifted it to Mrs. Greymore when I visited her last week.”

Bucky raises a brow as he reaches into his pocket. “Well, that was real nice of you. But y’know, the trouble with plants as gifts is they sometimes come with bugs.” The audio bug is placed on the table, and Steve can tell that Zola hadn’t been expecting it, because the surprise that moves over his features is obvious. 

“What do you want to tell us about this?”

Their suspect manages to compose himself for the most part, but something seems off. There’s a possible crack in his armor, the pompous air that usually accompanies his presence is gone, leaving a man slightly hunched, staring at the object that could put him in jail.

He’s silent long enough for Bucky to grow frustrated. “ _Explain_.”

Steve thinks his partner must get some satisfaction from the way Zola flinches slightly.

“It appears to be an audio recording device,” he answers, and Steve is sure that it isn’t sarcastic, if Zola’s shaky tone is anything to go by.

Bucky drills on. “Yeah? Where’d you get the _audio recording device_?”

Steve wonders if Zola is making a last-ditch effort to conceal his anxiety as he meets Bucky’s gaze when he answers, and some of Steve’s confidence dissipates at the move.

“I would not know where to begin to look for one. That is not mine, detective.”

“Bullshit.” Bucky remains cool, and if he’s thrown off by Zola’s response he doesn’t let it show. Steve is impressed yet worried over how long it can last.

“Honestly. I was simply there to ask Mrs. Greymore about her husband, to find out why he took his life. I wanted to solve the case as much as you.”

There’s no doubt in his mind that Zola is spilling lies, and his ability to do so while portraying complete innocence churns his stomach.

“You’re lying,” he states, and gains Zola’s attention. “You were the last person to see Holly Greymore. We know about what you said to her.”

Zola stiffens. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”

“You mean you don’t remember telling her that if she spoke to police her family would be in danger? That you know people who want to get rid of her?”

They don’t have the full transcript; their only hope for that lies with the team searching Zola’s home. They only have what Mrs. Parker described to Bucky, based on what Mrs. Greymore told her. It puts them at a disadvantage, Steve realizes, because the only person who knows whether or not that conversation can still be used for evidence is their suspect. He could have already gotten rid of the recording, leaving them with nothing about Mrs. Greymore’s word, and it’s doubtful she’ll show up to a trial now.

Still, Zola seems anxious and uncomfortable, most likely wondering how they know the details of his visit with Mrs. Greymore.

He stays silent for a long moment, and when he speaks his voice is quiet, his expression almost fearful.

“I said nothing of the sort.” 

Bucky fixes him with a glare, head cocked to the side as he leans forward in his seat.

“Really? So Holly Greymore was lying to us then, huh? Is that what you’re saying? ‘Cause one of you has to be lying, and I don’t think it’s the recently widowed mother of two.”

Zola’s voice is slightly shaky as he replies. “There are instances…when people have recently lost a loved one-“

“Stop talking. Right now.” Bucky interjects, and Steve spots the hand hiding on his leg beneath the table, clenched into a fist.

“Dr. Zola.” Their suspect looks to him and Steve and sighs internally, knowing that he has to be Bucky’s foil if they want to get information, as much as he’d like to be the tough cop right now. “This evidence connects you to the death of Quentin Greymore, which is a case you were given special clearance to review and provide input on. You’re now a person of interest in this case. It’s in your best interest to cooperate with police.”

Zola stays quiet, taking a long moment to stare intently at an indiscriminate spot on the table. Steve can only guess at what he’s thinking at this point, but he doesn’t see any way for him to try getting out of this. 

“I realize that you have run out of options-“

Bucky visibly bristles. “I wouldn’t be the one saying that if I were you, buddy.”

“-but I am not the one you should be looking into.” Zola ignores Bucky’s interruption, finishing his statement.

Steve watches him carefully, guard raised.

“What do you mean?”

Zola’s slight, calculating eyes move between the two of them. “I am saying that Quentin Greymore’s death was a suicide. If you recall, I submitted a formal report to your department detailing my investigation.”

He can almost feel Bucky’s annoyance at the barb, as if they wouldn’t have known about Zola’s report when it’s tied directly to their case. He’s feeling confident enough to toy with them now, and Steve thinks of ways to give them the upper hand again.

“If it was a suicide, why was the symbol there?” Bucky asks, eyes narrowing, Zola seems to be expecting the question.

“Ah, the one that has been popping up lately. I understand that it has proven to be a nuisance for you. I’m afraid I cannot help you in that regard. I do not know what the victim’s ties were to the homicides that have occurred, but whatever his connections to those who are leaving the symbol, I doubt it was one of them that killed him. Unless of course,” Zola pauses, and Steve thinks he’s choosing his words carefully, “he was _affiliated_ with the group.”

Steve knows Bucky doesn’t believe anything coming out of Zola’s mouth at this point, but the other humors him anyway. “You’re saying he was a part of this group?”

“It is possible.” Zola says a little desperately, waving his hands with suggestion. “We all have secrets, do we not? He could have upset them, somehow. However,” he starts, almost reluctant. “I will stand by my original analysis of Mr. Greymore’s death.”

“If he was involved with a group and they killed him then it wouldn’t have been a suicide,” Steve states intently.

“No…” Zola replies, and then, “Although…” He seems to be thinking hard, staring at the table before his eyes brighten up with something as he looks back at them. “Perhaps they threatened his family?” Zola sighs softly, sadly. “It is not a pleasant tactic, but…it is one that would unfortunately work on a family man like Mr. Greymore.”

“That seems like a stretch that only someone who knows inside details could make,” Bucky replies, staring harshly at Zola, who shrugs.

“It was only speculation that I formed based on what I know. Alas, I do not know the true answer. I only wish there was more evidence to illuminate what occurred that night.”

Bucky shakes his head. “I don’t believe Greymore killed himself. I think you’re covering for something.” Steve looks to Bucky, surprised at the accusation. “And you need to start telling us the truth, or believe me, it’s gonna end badly for you.”

Their suspect doesn’t seem phased by Bucky’s words. He doesn’t move an inch, now back to sitting primly in his seat with his hands folded on the table.

“Are you threatening me, detective?”

Bucky’s voice is cold when he answers. “I ain’t doing any worse that what you did to Holly Greymore.”

The staring competition that takes place after has Steve worried, but also unsure of how to interrupt whatever silent argument is taking place between them. 

Zola breaks off first, inhaling slightly and looking away. “I’ve told you, I did not-“ 

Before Steve can blink Bucky stands up and shoves a finger at Zola, his chair moving back out so hard it falls over. “Shut up. Shut the fuck up. You’re _lying_. Why would she lie? Why would she leave town suddenly?” Zola attempts to interject, but Bucky doesn’t even give him the chance to utter a syllable. “I’ll tell you, it’s because you told her to. You told her she’d be in danger if she didn’t, and when you left she almost _did_ leave, but you didn’t anticipate how strong she is. She wanted her husband’s killer brought to justice, so she agreed to meet with us, and when we got there she would’ve told us everything, but you couldn’t have that could you? You had to find a way to scare her off. And boy, if you weren’t the reason she left the world must be fulla coincidences, ‘cause the day we were supposed to see her we got blindsided by a guy in an armored truck! I wonder how he knew we were on our way to talk with her, huh? Maybe he had a little help from this?” Bucky holds up the bug. “ _Your_ bug that came from _your_ plant.” He throws it to the table, and it comes to a stop in front of Zola. “ _Your_ move.”

The silence that follows is tense, and Steve watches the moment Zola seems to realize that he’s run out of options. He feels triumphant, mostly on Bucky’s behalf, and a shred of tentative optimism rekindles his hopes that this case might be closed soon.

A knock sounds at the door, and the officer from before opens it without waiting for a cue. He looks in, uncertain, and gives both of them an apologetic look before speaking.

“You’re both needed. We’ll make sure he doesn’t go anywhere.” He nods toward Zola as if the latter is something that stinking up the room.

Steve looks to Bucky, who seems to be reluctant to leave. He stares down at Zola, and Steve knows that Bucky is daring their suspect to say something, to try and get the last word or voice some snarky thought before they leave. But he seems to have a good sense of self-preservation, instead keeping quiet as Steve picks up the bug and they exit the room.

They’ve only taken a few steps when Steve stops Bucky, almost grinning. “You were great in there.” 

The other almost looks embarrassed at first, but then he manages to cover it with his familiar cockiness. “Yeah well…it wasn’t anything. He’s just a weird little man who likes to play mind games is all.”

Steve is thankful that mind games apparently aren’t enough of a match for straight-forward accusations backed up with good evidence. “I think we might have him cornered, thanks to you.”

Bucky runs a hand through his hair, looking away at the wall with a little smile. “Like I said, it’s no big deal.” He reaches out, punching Steve lightly in the chest before spinning on his heel and walking off down the hall. “C’mon, we don’t have time for this.” Steve grins as he follows.

They spot Rumlow waiting outside a door at the other end of the hall, casually leaning against the wall.

“Any luck in there?”

Bucky’s still looking confident as he replies. “We think he’s about to crack."

Rumlow seems impressed as he gestures them inside. “Well maybe I can help you boys with that.”

“Didn’t know you were on the search team,” Bucky says as he glances at the various pieces of evidence strewn across the table.

“Yeah, well, we got a call about the bug and I headed over to this guy’s apartment to find whatever system it’s feeding to.” Rumlow moves over to a laptop sitting on the table, already running.

“What did you find?” Steve asks, coming to stand next to him.

“Well, good news is I found the monitoring program he was using for the bug installed on his laptop.” The program is already pulled up and Bucky moves closer as well to take a look at it. “You got the bug, right?” Rumlow hits a button and looks over to them expectantly.

Steve nods and takes it out of his pocket. He speaks into it, and his voice resounds through the laptop.

“There we go. That should be enough to hold him. It’s probably even enough to get a convicton,” Rumlow states, and Steve actually feels confident for a moment before he watches Rumlow close the laptop with a frown.

“So what’s the bad news?” Steve asks, and Rumlow turns toward them, crossing his arms and giving a short, frustrated sigh.

“Guy got rid of all the recordings. Wiped it all from the drive, so there’s not a trace of ‘em left.”

Bucky rubs at his face, expressing the distress Steve is trying to keep to himself.

“Fuck. So, what, there’s nothing?”

Rumlow shakes his head. “Nope. He was real thorough.”

It’s not ideal, but part of Steve isn’t completely surprised, considering their lack of luck when it comes to data files. “At least we have the bug and the program,” he says, grateful that it’s not as dire as it could be.

“That’s not all…”

Rumlow picks up a nondescript notebook sitting amongst other objects found in Zola’s home, most of them files and notebooks similar to the one in his hand. A small gold plaque is attached to the top of the cover, with the initials A.T. Z. etched into it. Steve takes it from him, but Rumlow hesitates to let it go until Steve looks up at him and notices the grimace present.

“I’m just warning you now,” he says, suddenly glancing over at Bucky. “It’s not pleasant stuff. In fact, it’s…pretty fucked up.”

He lets go, but then Steve is the one to hesitate, a sense of dread settling into the pit of his stomach. Bucky stands behind him, an anxious presence, and although it could be just a reflection his own feelings onto his partner, he feels that after spending so much time together he has some sense of what’s going through the other’s mind.

The notebook flips open and in a fraction of a second Steve’s heart stops.

The handwriting is immediately recognizable, Steve having read page upon page of it this morning. It takes him a moment to even think about reading the content, but once he does he gets the urge to shut the notebook and throw it away. 

Observations dating back to almost a week before the first letter was delivered litter the first page- when Bucky leaves his apartment, when he goes to work. Times he returned and whether or not he returned alone. There are even notes about Natasha, and her typical daily routine. He flips to the next page and skims over the notes on Bucky. Background and personal information, details about his time in the war, notes on his family. The next page is a draft of the first letter Bucky received, and Steve closes the notebook before his eyes have to take in too much at once.

He feels Rumlow watching him, but more than that, he feels Bucky still next to him, and he glances over to see him staring down at the closed cover of the notebook. He doesn’t know when he’d started reading, but he can assume from his expression and the silence pervading the room that he’d seen enough. 

Steve’s gaze moves to the other folders and files on the table, and his stomach turns. 

“How many- are there others?”

When Rumlow shakes his head the feeling in his gut ebbs, but the weight of the notebook in his hands doesn’t feel any lighter.

“No, that’s the only one from what I could tell. Everything else just likes like work.”

Steve nods, glancing back down at the thing in his hands uncomfortably. “Okay. Thanks.”

“Yeah, sure.” For once, Rumlow seems subdued, and he turns his back to them, perhaps granting them privacy, as he begins to do something on Zola’s laptop.

The sound of the door shutting behind him makes him turn quickly, and it takes a tenth of a second to notice Bucky is gone before he’s leaving the room after him. His heart pounds in his chest as he goes out into the hallway, catching sight of Bucky walking in the opposite direction of the interrogation room, away toward the elevator. 

“Hey-“

Reaching out, he gets just behind Bucky before the other turns. Steve takes in the fear, naked and terrible on his face.

“No, I-“ He steps back, tilting a bit to the side, and Steve moves closer, watching him carefully. “I’m….” Bucky takes a deep breath then leans back against the wall. “I’m fine, I’m okay. I just wasn’t expecting to see…that.”

Steve slowly lets his hands fall back to his sides. “Do you wanna go get some air?”

Bucky shakes his head. “No, I’m okay.” His eyes look away, down the hall as he runs a hand through his hair, clearly avoiding Steve. Steve realizes he’s still holding the notebook, and suddenly feels guilty for following Bucky out here with it.

“Just give me a second. I just need to-“ He pauses, looking back toward the door of the interrogation room, then down to focus on some point on the floor. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

It actually takes Steve a second to realize what he’s implying, but then he’s shaking his head. “Bucky, you don’t need to-“ 

“Yes I do.” Bucky straightens up against the wall and looks at him. “I have to, I can’t let him think I’m afraid of him.”

Steve simply stares back for a moment, weighing Bucky’s words against his own instincts, instincts that remind him of Bucky’s state last week when he’d been receiving the letters. Now he’s about to see the man who’d written them while knowing he’s been the source of his stress and fear. And once they show Zola the notebook he’ll realize they know. He’s obviously been keeping it a secret for this long, Steve begins to wonder how he’ll act when he knows the secret is out and Bucky is in the same room with him.

“I’m tired of being afraid Steve.” Bucky states, matching his gaze, and Steve tries to swallow his panic as he realizes that protecting Bucky from this is a losing battle. “I know you and Natasha…you guys only want to keep me safe, and I appreciate that.” He laughs softly, sincerely. “Man, I do.” He meets Steve gaze again. “But I have to make my own choices. I need to choose for myself.”

Some of the guilt from before creeps back again, at the way he and Natasha had confronted Bucky and decided what was best for him. Granted, he’d mainly trusted Natasha with that decision since she’s known him for longer, but still, the feeling that he’d betrayed his friend’s trust is there and he didn’t think he could atone for it even though Bucky had said it was okay. Now he might be able to, by giving this to Bucky. Even if it seems like the worst idea ever.

“You do,” he replies, and Bucky’s expression turns confused. He’d obviously been expecting a fight about this. “I just hope you’re thinking this through. Once we’re in there, he’s going to know, and we don’t know how he’ll act.” Bucky looks ready to interject, and Steve raises his hand a little. “Just…please, think of how you’re feeling okay? When we’re in there, put yourself first. I know this is important to you, and I know you wanna face your fear. But you’re more important than this.”

There’s quiet for a moment as Bucky stares down at Steve’s shoes, and he tries not to feel anxious about the whole situation. He takes the moment to put himself in Bucky’s shoes, and realizes that he’d trust the other to do most anything for him, if it came to it. He already trusts his judgment on the case, to make difficult decisions and to be ready for anything that might come at them next. And if it came down to it, he knows he’d trust Bucky to save his life. There’s the intrinsic understanding and sympathy between two ex-soldiers with shared relationships and experiences, but this is even more than that, to him. Steve feels like Bucky is someone he’s close to, and it hits him then that along with Peggy Sam and Sharon, Bucky has become one of the most important people in his life.

“I know how strong you are, Bucky. I’m not gonna stop you from doing anything. But if you need me to help, can you trust me to do that?”

When Bucky looks at him, his eyes move between Steve’s. He nods, and relief and gratitude replace some of the anxiety from before. If Bucky trusts him to help with Zola then he’ll do it without a moment of doubt or hesitation.

“Anytime you need to leave you can. I’ll take care of Zola.”

“Alright.” Bucky takes a deep breath and stands away from the wall, looking again past Steve to the door of the interrogation room. “Let’s go.”

But as they approach the door, Bucky stops. Steve waits patiently.

“I don’t think I’ll need to, but…if I leave I don’t want him to know…” Bucky trails off, but he understands.

“Okay,” Steve replies, and moves to open the door. “I have a plan.”

He calls the officer outside, and Zola barely looks up, his attention diverted toward the plant still sitting on the table. There’s a quizzical frown on his face that’s still noticeable as Steve shuts the door again.

He keeps his voice lowered as he gives the officer instructions. “We need you to watch from the observation room. If I fold my arms come into the room and tell detective Barnes he has a call waiting." 

Thankfully, the officer doesn’t ask questions, only glances between them before answering in the affirmative and disappearing through the other door.

Bucky speaks up. “What happens if you accidentally fold your arms?”

Bucky’s usual temperament returns as he gives Steve a little cocky smile. He decides to fold his arms then and there before replying.

“Then I guess someone will have the wrong number.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, but still cracks a grin that has Steve feeling more confident about what they’re about to do. Then he watches as it becomes a bit more subdued before Bucky speaks again. “But you won’t do it just to get rid of me?”

Steve catches the doubt hidden in the words, and he tries to be reassuring. “No. You let me know when to do it, or let me know not to, and we’ll go from there.”

“And how will I do that?”

He thinks for a second, but he’s quietly confident in his ability to read Bucky by now. They’ve seen each other scared and anxious, and a flash of Bucky running off after his last meeting with Zola at the charity event moves through his mind. But he doesn’t mention that, instead deciding to try and get that smile back, the one that was only too quick to disappear a moment ago. 

“’Donuts’, remember?”

* * *

 

 

The notebook sits in the middle of the table, having replaced the potted lily, and Zola gives it the same quizzical frown.

Neither Steve or Bucky say anything for a long moment, Steve wanting Zola to make the first move, and he can only assume Bucky simply isn’t ready to interject yet.

Still, Zola only sits across from them, glancing up from the notebook every few seconds until he slides it closer and examines the cover. It’s then that Steve notices the minute shifts in his expression- the switch from confusion to realization, and then Zola seems to change completely, setting the notebook down with a little smile.

“I see you’ve found my notebook,” he states, gently placing his hands on the table and clasping them together.

“It wasn’t very hard to find,” Steve replies, resisting the urge to glance over and check on Bucky. “You’d think something so incriminating would have been hidden better.”

Zola’s smile grows wry, pulling his lips tight. “Yes. Well I am not the best at hiding things, it would appear.”

Steve’s eyes narrow. Either Zola is starting to play a game with them or he wants them to know that he’d made it easy on purpose. If that were true, Steve thinks, then he’d wanted them to find it, and Bucky being here right now might be a bad idea.

Their suspect opens the book, fingers moving carefully along the first page as he reads over what he’d written. “It did take me a while to collect all of this information.” He flips the page and continues. “But I had to ensure that I was thorough.” His eyes move to the draft of the first letter and another smile tilts his lips, sending a sick feeling through Steve’s stomach.

He can’t even question the other’s admission of guilt, a large part of him unsurprised that this was Zola all along. “Why?”

Zola doesn’t bother looking up, instead keeping his attention on the notebook as he flips to the next page. “Why what, detective? Why did I ensure that I was thorough? It is because I needed to know every secret detective Barnes has. Every piece of information. Things to use against him.” He looks up at Bucky then, meeting his gaze. “Things to make him aware of the fact that I know exactly who he is.”

“For what purpose? Why do this at all?” Steve leans forward after glancing over at Bucky’s expression, trying to catch Zola’s attention again. 

There’s a pause as he looks back down at the notebook, carefully turning another page. “I was contacted by a group that required my assistance. Assistance, I should add, they demanded by force. I’ve found through my involvement that they are quite powerful. I believe they are based here, in New York.”

“What’s the name of the group?”

Zola looks up at him, all calm and assessing, and Steve’s stomach begins to turn at the clear change in his demeanor.

“I’m afraid I did not find out their name, or even the name of the person who contacted me. I was told very little, except to intimidate detective Barnes.” 

His instincts spark, telling him this is a lie, that Zola has to know more. Bucky is still quiet next to him, and with Zola knowing exactly how to get to him, it’s a risk to let him be the target of Zola’s attention. 

“Why did this group want to intimidate detective Barnes?”

Steve watches as his eyes flit from him to Bucky. He leans forward in his seat.

“I was not told why. Simply that I had to participate. Or else.”

The room almost reeks of deception now, and he wracks his brain for methods, angles to try and get what they need out of their suspect.

“Have you intimidated people before?” Bucky speaks up suddenly, and Steve contains his surprise, although a pit of worry begins to twist in his stomach.

“I cannot say that I have, detective. At least, not knowingly.” Zola’s smile is innocently sinister, and Steve knows in that moment everything he needs to about the man.

“Just seems like you might have some experience in it,” Bucky continues, and though he doesn’t sound nearly as accusatory, he still manages to have some bite. Zola shakes it off immediately.

“Hm…well, I suppose it isn’t hard to find the right words when every little detail about the victim is given.”

Bucky keeps going, and even with the dramatics and demands he’d stirred up earlier, it’s now that Steve realizes how good he really is at his job. “And what about Holly Greymore?” 

“Yes, well. She was one other that had been added to my roster, unfortunately.” Zola seems apologetic in a way that reminds Steve of people distractedly saying sorry after bumping into someone on the street. “I did not have much control over these things, you see." 

“I’m having a hard time believing you’re innocent in this,” Bucky states, and Zola grins.

“Oh, detective Barnes. I am sorry if I truly alarmed you. Although it was my intention, it was never my choice.” His smile turns innocent, then. “If I could lead you to the people that made me do these things, I would.”

“And what about the symbol?” Steve asks, needing to interrupt. “All of the specific information about what the group was doing that was in the letters?”

“All given to me,” Zola replies, almost shrugging. “They gave me what I needed to produce the letters, and I did my part, just as they required.”

Bucky and Steve share a look.

“So they gave you the bug, the plant, all of that?” Bucky’s eyes narrow as he continues. “They gave you the program you needed on your laptop, the seal, the information on me, the-”

Bucky’s pause catches his attention again, and Steve sees the realization there on his face before he speaks.

“The access you needed to sabotage the scene of Greymore’s death.”

Zola’s grin is barely contained. “Are you accusing me of tampering with evidence, detective?”

“I’ve been accusing you of a lot more than that,” he replies, with the same fire Steve recognizes from before.

Zola continues to be dismissive. “I had no need to sabotage anything. I was made to write a report, and so I did. I had nothing to do with the death itself.”

“And we’re supposed to believe that? After you threatened Holly Greymore?”

Bucky receives a patient smile, before being addressed like a child. “There is a great difference between speaking to someone and actually participating in murder, detective. It is not my intention to deceive you. I am sure that you have enough to worry about already.” Zola’s smile fades then, as his eyes lock onto Bucky’s. “Things that keep you awake at night.”

Steve’s next breath catches and he inches closer to Bucky in his seat. “The mark that was on the letters you sent was at the scene of Greymore’s death.”

Zola’s eyes never leave Bucky as he replies. “Yes. It seems to be the group’s _modus operandi_. Their calling card. I was instructed to leave it on each letter.”

“You know that your report means nothing now, and that the fact you were at Greymore’s place of death is suspect.”

He manages to barely gain Zola’s attention again, but it’s disinterested, as if he’s a simple inconvenience. “I have been writing these reports for years, detective. This one was required to be…skewed, I will admit. But I was forced against my will use intimidation tactics, and I will be proven innocent, you will see.”

“It doesn’t look that way to me, buddy,” Bucky says, and Zola’s attention snaps back to him without pause.

“You have a lot of anger, do you not detective Barnes? A lot of suppressed emotion. That isn’t good for the mind, you know,” he says frankly, and Steve is stern with his response.

“We aren’t talking about Barnes right now, we’re talking about you.” 

Zola’s eyes only glance to him for a microsecond before returning to Bucky. “I realize that, detective Rogers. But I feel that as a professional psychologist, I must make you aware of my observations. And they are worrisome.”

Steve intervenes again. “We don’t-“

“Are you getting enough sleep, detective? This case is undoubtedly stressful, and I’m afraid I have not made it easier for you. Although with your history, I doubt that sleep-deprivation is something new to you.”

Whatever confidence Bucky had is slowly, visibly fading and this time Steve raises his voice. “That’s enough.“

He’s ignored. “After you returned, how long did it take you to fall asleep? Days? I am sure when you finally did your dreams were not at all pleasant.”

Bucky stays silent, and Steve feels helpless for the first time since the interview began. They’re quickly losing control, and he wracks his brain for a way to-

“I wonder, do you still have nightmares? I would not doubt it, especially about your time overseas, but recent events will have also given you much to fret over. What do you dream of, detective Barnes?” Zola’s eyes are locked on to Bucky’s face, and he watches him only for a second before he smiles. “Do you dream of your friends dying?”

A pained expression overtakes Bucky’s features, and Steve acts.

“Is that all they gave you?” He asks, gesturing to the empty coffee cup sitting next to Zola. He manages to derive the other’s attention from Bucky and Zola stares at him for a long moment, at a loss.

“It…is, yes.”

“Well, you’ve been here for a couple of hours now, maybe you’d like a refill? Or something to eat?”

He knows Bucky is looking over at him now, catching him out of his peripheral, and Steve doesn’t need to see him clearly to know there’s confusion on his face. “I…” Zola pauses, probably thrown off-guard by Steve’s sudden hospitality. “Perhaps…”

“We have more coffee, and we always have a steady supply of donuts. It might be a bit of a stereotype, but it’s true around here, right Buck?”

He finally gets a chance to look over at Bucky, who’s eyes widen minutely in understanding before he clenches his jaw and nods. “Yeah.”

Steve relaxes back into his chair a bit, crossing his arms as he holds Zola’s confused stare. “Well then we’ll have to get you some.”

Zola looks between them awkwardly for a moment. “I must decline the offer…” His eyes glance to his empty cup, and Steve takes the opportunity to decide for him.

“Just some coffee, then.” Zola seems to be debating as he holds his gaze, but he doesn’t get the chance to decline again as the officer comes through the door and all eyes turn to him.

“Detective Barnes, you have a call waiting,” he states, managing to keep a straight face. Steve is thankful for it, and now Bucky might actually leave without Zola realizing the truth. He shoots the officer a little smile as Bucky gets up from his seat.

“Excuse me, could you bring us some more coffee?” He watches Bucky leave the room as he asks. The officer seems a bit surprised at the request, but he nods before following Bucky out of the room and shutting the door behind them.

When he looks back at Zola, the other man is already watching him. Now that Bucky has left, Steve actually finds his gaze less unnerving. Zola may be an intelligent man, adept at reading people and analyzing them, but unless he’s got a notebook filled with information about Steve he has no upper hand here.

He sits calmly now across from the man so keen on terrorizing Bucky. That factor alone has him determined to put this man away for his crimes.

“Looks like it’s just you and me now.”

Zola stays silent, waiting for him to make the first move. He does, leaning forward and keeping his eyes locked with the other’s.

“For someone trying to play innocence, you aren’t doing a very good job.”

He has a feeling that Zola doesn’t want him to see his jaw tense or his eyes narrow, but he does, just before the other man wipes it away for his favored pretention.

“I’m afraid I was never a very good actor. What you are seeing is reality, detective. I have been forced into a position that I-“

“Tell me about Quentin Greymore,” he interjects, getting an offended glare in return.

“You know as much as I do detective,” Zola answers, speaking slowly. “He was an employee at Stark Industries. He appeared to have a stable family life. I do not know what those people wanted with him-“

“You mean the group that’s been forcing you to threaten people?”

“Yes,” Zola replies, wary.

“Tell me about them,” he demands, and he can see the apprehension return.

“I have told you everything I know. They seem to be powerful, they are obviously dangerous. They like to mark where they’ve been.”

“Tell me more about how they operate.”

Zola replies, almost desperate now, “I _told_ you, I do not know-“

“I don’t believe you,” he says, hard and with finality.

Zola stares at him.

“If you’re being threatened into doing this then you need to tell us what they have against you. We need motive, and if this is taken to court…” He huffs a laugh, something angry and raw, full of promises. “well then you’d better hope you can find some proof.”

“What sort of proof would I have?” Zola asks, voice growing thin. “They are very thorough, they don’t leave a trace-“ 

“Except for when they do.” Zola’s mouth closes at that, and Steve leans forward.

“I know you haven’t been threatened into doing this. So why don’t you tell me your connection to this group, and what they want, and we can make this easier for you.”

“I…I cannot give you anything if I have no knowledge to begin with, detective.” 

“Alright. If that’s how you want it.” Steve rises, keeping his gaze on Zola. “Good luck in court.”

With that, he leaves, almost expecting Zola to say something as he walks toward the door. He doesn’t, and Steve wonders what he’s so afraid of. Whatever is connecting him to this crime group, it isn’t something easily broken. 

He shuts the door behind him and spots the officer walking down the hall, coffees in hand.

“Thanks, I’ll take those.”

Bucky is waiting in the room next door, watching Zola through the one-way glass.

“You look like you could use a drink.” Steve holds out a coffee, and Bucky gives a tired smile as he takes it.

“Thanks, but not the kind of drink I need right now.” He drinks it anyway, and gives a satisfied sigh afterward. His voice is low when he speaks again. “He isn’t going to jail.”

Steve takes a long sip of his own coffee before replying easily.

“He is.”

But Bucky shakes his head. “No. We don’t have any evidence to pin him to Greymore’s death. We can’t refute that he wasn’t threaten-“

“But he doesn’t have any proof that he _was_.” 

Bucky’s silent then, and Steve recognizes his inner turmoil. He’s afraid, and unwilling to believe that Zola will be convicted. That his own suffering will be over.

“At least there won’t be any more letters,” he says, wanting Bucky to believe it. 

Bucky speaks into his cup, voice tired. “They could always get someone else to write them.”

Steve waits until he looks over, and catches his gaze. “There was a reason they used Zola. It’d be hard for them to find someone willing to go to the same lengths, or to write the way he did. Even if he was threatened, he didn’t seem to hold back at all. Not to mention he falsified his report to police and he was at the scene of Greymore’s death. If he doesn’t have any proof that he was made to do those things, he won’t get very far in court.” 

Bucky looks away, unconvinced. “We’ll see.”

* * *

 

They return to the apartment together, and Bucky changes before heading out to Natasha’s with the promise that he’ll give Steve call before he leaves. It only makes Steve feel slightly better, but there isn’t much he can do. It’s not practical for them to carpool _everywhere_ together, no matter how much Steve wishes they could figure out a way. So with a tight smile, he bids the other goodbye, before getting changed himself so he can go out with Jackson. When he gets back, he has time for a quick shower and snack before he has to head off to the VA.

He’s about ten minutes early for his class when he arrives, and he quickly gets his things together and makes his way inside. Set up never takes too long, and he’s thankful that it doesn’t when he spots two of his regulars mingling in the hallway as he makes his way toward the room. He gives them a smile and sparks up some small talk with them as he enters. They follow, and choose their seats before they begin to set up their easels and sketchbooks. Steve goes to the middle of the room and sets his pencils on a nearby stool before setting up his own easel.

“Still won’t make the jump to paints, huh?” Sam eyes his pencils with a smile as he enters the room, hands slipped into the pockets of his slacks.

Steve grins back as he sets his largest sketchbook against the easel. “Not yet. We’re sketching out some scenes today, and then adding watercolor next week.”

Sam nods to himself. “Well, maybe I’ll sign up. Be the next Van Gogh.”

“Didn’t know you were interested in art,” he replies, crossing his arms. “The only time I ever see you in here is when you’re trying to flirt with the girl from the front desk.”

“Don’t know why she’s always comin’ in here,” Sam replies, scowling. “You think she’d realize she’s not exactly your type.”

Steve snorts, shakes his head. “Well next time I’ll try and let her know.” 

“Yeah, do me a favor,” Sam replies, then looks closer at Steve’s set-up. “So, you got your pencils, your easel, your sketchbook…” he trails off pursing his lips. “…my headphones?”

First confusion, then a grimace as he remembers that he’d once again missed an opportunity to return Sam’s headphones that he’d borrowed after his broke. The same ones he’d borrowed more than two months ago. He’s starting to feel a bit guilty about it at this point.

“Sorry, forgot again,” he states sheepishly, and Sam only smiles.

“Now I’m starting to think you’re doin’ it on purpose. You know if you just wanna buy them off me, I’ll let you.”

He attempts to look as earnest as possible as he replies. “I’ll remember them next time, I promise.”

Sam reaches out, patting his arm. “It’s okay, I know you got a lot goin’ on. I’ll just break into your apartment and steal them back sometime.”

Steve gives a laugh. “Just keep an eye out for Jackson when you do, he might not like that much.” A few people file in, and Steve’s eyes shift to watch them as they pick out seats.

“Are you kidding? Jackson loves me. I’m more worried about your partner, considering we’ve never met. How’s he doing, by the way?”

He looks back to Sam. “He’s a lot better. I think he’s settling in.”

Sam gets a little smile, and Steve’s eyes trail down to it, confused. “So you don’t mind it? Him staying with you?”

“No,” he replies, suddenly feeling as if he should be wary of something. “I offered, and he couldn’t stay at his place…”

His friend’s expression doesn’t change as he watches him, and Steve suddenly feels like a specimen under a microscope. “You sure? It’s just that you’ve been living alone for a long time, and you haven’t had any interest in having a roommate.”

“Well we already work together, so we end up spending most of our time together anyway. It’s not that big of a difference.” Sam raises a brow, and Steve stiffens, realizing that he’d somehow just given Sam whatever he’d been trying to get out of him. It’s almost depressing sometimes how well his friend can do that. Maybe Sam is the one better-suited for detective work.

“Right. So, none of this has anything to do with the big ol’ crush you have on him?”

He feels his face start to heat up before he can even begin to think of anything to say. “I- what?”

Sam continues to watch him, expression unchanging but for the pull at the corner of his lips.

“A…crush?” Steve’s nose wrinkles as his mind dredges up images of middle school. “I don’t-“ he sighs. “Sam he’s my partner, I can’t have a crush on him.”

“No, you probably _shouldn’t_ have a crush on him, but that’s not changing the fact that you _do_ ,” Sam replies, managing to contain most of his smugness, which Steve would find impressive if not for the fact that he’s fully focused on denying this… _crush_. 

“This isn’t grade school, Sam, I don’t have a _crush_ on Bucky and that’s not why I’m letting him stay with me.”

 Sam shrugs. “I know. You’re letting him stay with you because you’re a nice guy. But you still have a crush on him. Don’t need to be back in school to see that.”

Steve is silent for a moment before he sighs deeply and crosses his arms. Maybe if he gives in a little Sam will leave him alone. “I think he’s good-looking.”

Sam smiles. “And?”

Steve’s brow ticks. “And we get along.”

Sam is silent as he continues to watch him, and Steve feels his resolve crumbling with every passing second.

He sighs again.

“Fine, okay? I might have a crush on him,” he admits, looking around to make sure no one is listening in. Thankfully everyone seems to be occupied with either talking to their neighbor or setting up their station.

When he looks back to Sam, the other is wearing what might be the most ridiculous smile he’s ever seen on him.

“Stop it.”

“Hey man, I’m just happy you’re interested in someone. I mean it’s been what, a year?” Sam punches him lightly on the arm, and Steve levels him with an unappreciative look.

“Year and a half.”

Sam only nods. “Well, then I’d say it’s time to get back on that horse.”

“Sam, I work with him, I can’t just…” he pauses, once again sweeping the immediate area for eavesdroppers. “…I can’t just ask him out. Besides, I think he has a girlfriend.”

His friend looks genuinely surprised at this. “Really? You sure?”

Steve _isn’t_ sure, but he thinks back to the night Natasha had pulled him into her apartment, concern and determination clear on her face as she showed him the letters, and then to the charity ball they’d shown up at together.

“Yeah, pretty sure…” He feels like he does a pretty good job of hiding any hints of dejection in his reply, but Sam still pins him with a look of concern that’s now familiar after so many years of friendship.

“Did you ask him yourself?” 

He falters. “Well, no…” 

Sam looks at him thoughtfully for a moment before nodding to himself. “Alright, how about this? I come over and get to know him. It’d be good for me, since I haven’t met the guy, and it’d be good for you, because then I’ll get the chance to ask about this girlfriend you think he has.”

Steve immediately wants to decline the idea, but he gives himself the chance to consider it. It’s actually a pretty good one, considering that it makes sense for Sam to want to meet his work partner who’s also become his friend. It’d be even better if Sam and Bucky end up getting along, and it would introduce Bucky to someone who could help him out.

He’s apparently been silent long enough for Sam to feel that he has to convince him.

“Look, you know you can trust me. He won’t suspect a thing. Plus it’ll give us an excuse to all hang out. I’ll bring beer, we’ll play some games, order a pizza. Maybe it’ll be just what he needs.”

“Well when you put it _that_ way…” He offers a smile, and Sam returns it easily.

“You don’t have to worry man, nothing’s gonna go wrong, you know me. I can come over tomorrow, if you guys aren’t gonna be busy...” Sam offers him a wink, and Steve realizes the double-entendre. He gives him a flat look.

“Tomorrow night’s fine. We’ll see you at eight.”

“Eight works for me. See you then.” Sam gives him a parting smile before he turns and leaves the room. 

Steve turns to look around the room, and finds his entire class there, although thankfully they seem to be absorbed in drawing or having their own conversations. After a sigh of relief, he addresses them and begins the class.

* * *

 

 

“ _Heyyyy, Steve-o. How’s the murder-solving going? So listen, I just need a time from you so I can know when to send over my guys to install the alarm. Tomorrow, preferably. The sooner the better, since, you know, people are trying to kill you. You have my number now so just text me a time and I’ll send someone over ASAP. Alright, so. Guess I’ll see you at the next big charity thing unless- you know, I’ve been meaning to ask- do you like shawarma? ‘Cause I know a great shawarma place and I was thinking maybe you could use a break from all the protein shakes, or muscle milk, or…whatever it is you consume to look like a superhero. So let me know. You have my number.”_

Steve frowns, wondering how Stark could have gotten his number. He decides not to put too much energy into it, and he deletes the message before listening to the next one, which is a message from forensics about the letters. Making a mental note to let them know that case has been closed, he moves on to the next message.

_“Hey, it’s me. I’m just leaving Natasha’s, I should be back soon. I told her about today, and I asked her if she got any more letters. She said no, so that’s…something I guess. Anyways- see you in twenty if you’re home.”_

Steve listens to the automated voice informing him that the message had been left ten minutes ago. Bucky will still be on his way back, so there’s no need to worry yet.

He sends a text to Stark, letting him know what time tomorrow will work, and makes the call to forensics afterward. He learns that there were three different prints found on some of the letters, while the rest only had two and were identified as his and Bucky’s. The third ended up belonging to Natasha, just as he’d thought. A dead end, but it doesn’t matter now. Still, he thanks them, and lets them know that things have been solved as far as the letters go.

His phone beeps at him as he hangs up, and he plugs it in to let it charge before turning and looking around aimlessly. There isn’t much for him to do before Bucky gets back, and he knows if he doesn’t find _something_ he’ll only end up thinking too much. The TV is always an option, or he could work on the case a little more. After his class though, he feels a bit of artistic inspiration running through him, and it _has_ been a while since he’s done any sketching outside of teaching.

After retrieving a sketchbook from the living room, he grabs his pencils from his bag and settles in at the kitchen island. As he stares at the blank page in front of him, he considers everything he’s been through lately and wonders if he’s feeling inspired to sketch something based on that, or if he wants to draw something that will take his mind away from everything.

Dorothy rubs against his leg then, and he smiles down at her, stretching his hand down for her to brush against. She does once, and then wanders off toward the living room area, and he watches her for a moment before starting on his drawing.

He’s made decent progress on his sketch of Dorothy lying in the sun by the time Bucky gets back.

“Hey.” Steve glances up as Bucky comes in, setting his bag next to the table in the entryway and his keys in the little dish on top of it.

“Hey. How was Natasha’s?” 

Bucky gives a little sigh, and Steve listens as he starts to putter around the kitchen. “Fine. She’s just worried, even though she tries to hide it. I think she’s pissed that I took this job in the first place.”

“Well, guess that shows that she cares about you at least.” He thinks he’ll get Dorothy’s eyes right if he focuses a little more on the angle…and is relieved when the one he’s working on starts to match the image in his mind.

“Yeah…” He hardly registers that Bucky has trailed off until he hears his voice right next to him. “Whatcha drawing?”

Steve looks up in surprise, and Bucky stands across from him, glass of water in hand. 

“Oh uh, just Dorothy.”

He gets an impressed look in response. “That’s pretty good. How long have you been drawing?”

“About fifteen minutes.”

Bucky huffs a laugh, and he looks at him in confusion. “I meant when did you start? How many years you been drawing?”

“Oh,” he replies dumbly and Bucky just grins at him. “Well, I got my first sketchbook on my eighth birthday, but I was drawing before that. I drew a lot growing up. Was one of the only things I was good at.”

“You mean you weren’t always Captain Perfect?” Bucky teases, and Steve looks down, an embarrassed smile on his face.

“I’m not perfect, Bucky.”

“Nah, you’re right. If you were perfect you wouldn’t snore like a lawn mower.” Bucky’s grin is back on his face when Steve looks up, mouth agape in outrage.

“I don’t snore!” His offense is apparently amusing, because that grin on Bucky’s face only grows.

“Like Hell you don’t. I can hear you through the wall. Your subordinates in the army might not’ve told you, but I’m gonna let you know before your neighbors start complaining.”

Steve gives Bucky his best glare, trying to remember how Sam manages to look whenever he’s fed up about something. 

He must not be very convincing, because Bucky bursts into laughter, and Steve struggles not to smile as a result.

“Careful there, don’t hurt yourself.”

He finally cracks at that and gives a laugh. “You’re terrible.”

“That’s me,” he replies easily, before looking at the sketch more thoughtfully. “So did you ever think about making a career out of it? I mean, I wasn’t lying. That’s pretty damn good.”

Steve looks back down at the sketch. Honestly, he’d been thinking that he’d let himself get a little rusty with everything going on, but Bucky’s compliment causes him to reconsider. 

“Yeah. I drew comics back in high school for the school paper. I thought it’s what I’d end up doing for the rest of my life.” He fiddles with his pencil a bit and resists the urge to bite his lip as he feels some familiar hesitation with mentioning the ‘good ‘ol days.’ “It was the only thing I was really interested in at school.”

He doesn’t know what kind of expression Bucky is wearing until he looks up, and he pegs it as confused curiosity.

“So you weren’t into sports then? Feel like they would’ve loved to have you.” Bucky looks pointedly at his torso, and he disguises the resulting bashful feeling in a laugh.

“No, actually. I was a tiny guy with asthma. And scoliosis. And a list of allergies longer than your arm.” His deadpan delivery cuts off any uncertainty Bucky may have had about him joking. He lowers his water slowly and sets in on the counter, while his brow does the opposite. It settles into a smooth arch, and Steve thinks that he might like to draw Bucky’s disbelief later. It’s a fun look on him.

Bucky’s gaze moves over his body again, and he leans forward over the counter to see more, as if it’s nothing he hasn’t already witnessed. Steve resists the urge to try and cover himself in some way. His eyes trail back to his face, that same skepticism in his eyes when his gaze meets Steve’s.

“You sure?” 

Steve laughs. “Yeah, pretty sure.”

“It’s just…kinda hard to see it.” Bucky gestures at him, and Steve knows that he won’t understand, no matter how much he tries to imagine. So he reaches into his back pocket to slip out his wallet. 

He takes out the polaroid that his mom had taken of him when he was fourteen, before he’d started his first day at high school. Every time he looks at it he wants to laugh, remembering how against the picture he’d been. His mam had wanted to take it while he was standing in front of his school, but he’d fought adamantly against that idea. They’d ended up striking a deal: she’d take the picture of him at home if he’d smile for the photo. And so the faded picture contains a short, lanky teenage Steve standing in front of the door to their old apartment with a reluctant smile on his face.

He lays it on the counter and watches Bucky as he slides it closer. The other’s lips purse for a moment, brows drawing together, before he opens his mouth to say something, closes it. Opens it again.

Finally, he settles on something. “This is you,” he states, sounding sure yet still disbelieving. 

“Yep.” Steve doesn’t say any more, waiting for Bucky to sort through his thoughts.

He continues to study the photo, and that perplexed expression slowly changes into a tiny, honest smile. Steve stares for a moment, until it becomes something more teasing. 

“So when did puberty hit?”

He resists the urge to roll his eyes. “It hit already. Took that picture the first day of my freshman year. Shot up a whole inch and a half,” he replies, amused at the skeptical look Bucky gives him. He continues, “When I was young I always got real sick. My mam was hoping I’d grow out of it as I got older but it didn’t end up happening. There was a specialist that started at the hospital she worked at a little while after that picture was taken, and after she told him about me he was interested in seeing if he could help me get healthier. I went in for a consultation, then I started on the medication and physical therapy, and here we are.”

“Wow.” Bucky looks back at the picture, impressed. “I’d say it got you more than just ‘healthy’.” 

He chuckles, sliding the picture back towards him and putting it into his wallet. “Yeah, well…I guess I did a little more than I had to.”

“A little?” Bucky’s lips are quirked into a smile, and he can’t help but follow suit.

“Maybe a _little_ more than a little,” he replies. “But it helped me a lot when I enlisted. I always wanted to join the army, so it was a relief for my mam when she knew I could do it and not have problems just enlisting.”

“Yeah…I can imagine you having some trouble during basic, too,” Bucky says, looking off at nothing with an amused expression.

Steve reaches out and shoves him lightly for being a jerk, before slipping his wallet back into his pocket “Say what you want, I bet I still would’ve done ten times better than you.”

“Hey, you didn’t know me back then! All my superiors loved me.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “’Cause you’re so _charming_ , right?”

“See? You’re catchin’ on.” Steve smiles as Bucky turns and starts moving around the kitchen in earnest, getting out a skillet and then digging through the fridge. “Didn’t eat at Natasha’s. She never feeds me.” He gives a sigh, but it’s clearly not a serious one as looks back at Steve with a little smile. “You hungry?”

“Yeah actually. Haven’t eaten.”

“Kay,” Bucky responds, and continues to start making something Steve knows he’ll eat. He’d almost forgotten to, and his stomach has perked up at the mention of food. He wonders for a second if he should offer to just order something, before scrapping the idea. He knows by now that Bucky’d only balk at it, after their conversation this morning. Steve hasn’t had anyone actually cook for him in a while, either, not since he went over to Sam’s a few weeks ago and tried _Pho_. He knows he can’t match Sam’s cooking, but he wonders now if he can get Bucky to make something to pass off as his own when Sam comes over. Unless Bucky’s cooking is worse than his. But he isn’t sure that’s a possibility.

“Uh, by the way, Sam said he wanted to come over tomorrow night. Would you be alright with that?”

Bucky spares him a confused glance as he chops something up. 

“Sure, why wouldn’t I be? It’s your place.”

“Yeah, but you live here too now.” He watches Bucky place the skillet onto the stove, and his mother’s voice flashes through his mind in a tone that lets him know she’d be disappointed in him at the moment. “Do you need any help?”

“Naw, I got it.” Bucky brushes off the help easily, before grabbing the oil from the correct cabinet with a certainty that has Steve wondering if he really had gone through his entire kitchen this morning. “If you need me to go over to Nat’s again, I can.”

“No,” Steve says quickly, and Bucky looks over at him, obviously confused. “Uh, it’s just…well, Sam’s my best friend and…well, you know.”

He gets a look that clearly tells him that Bucky _doesn’t_ know.

“He’d kind of like to meet you, since…you’re my friend too,” he says, looking down at his sketchbook in interest to avoid Bucky’s gaze.

Nothing happens for a moment, and he starts to feel insecure enough to look up. Bucky is watching him with a teasing smile and he immediately feels the urge to look back down.

“Aw, are you tryin’ to ask if we’re friends Rogers?”

He does look back down, and his hand comes up to scratch lightly at the back of his neck. “I dunno…are we?”

Bucky’s smile is something softer when he looks up again. “Yeah,” he replies, and the response is clear in its sincerity. Steve can’t help his smile at that, and for a moment he feels happy to just look at Bucky, and know that at least in this instance, the thoughts he’s had lately haven’t been one-sided. He doesn’t know how long they look at each other, but he eventually breaks eye contact first.

“Yeah, so. I thought maybe you guys could meet. You know, only if you want,” he clarifies, not wanting to pressure Bucky even though he knows that meeting someone like Sam is one of the least threatening things he can possibly suggest. Bucky doesn’t know that though, and with everything that’s been going on he doesn’t want to put more stress on him.

Bucky throws something into the pan, and Steve’s stomach grumbles lowly as the smell of sizzling meat hits him. “Sam’s the one who works at the VA, right?” 

“He’s a counselor there, yeah. He runs sessions and talks to people. I actually bumped into him earlier while I was there and he asked about coming over.”

“Hm…” Bucky doesn’t reply for a moment, only adds some seasoning to whatever’s in the skillet. Steve wonders if he’s simply gotten caught up in what he’s doing before he finally continues. “You know if you wanted to try and get me to go to the VA you didn’t have to be so sneaky about it.”

Steve’s eyes widen, and he almost snaps the pencil he’d started to fiddle with again. “Wait, no, that’s not what-“

Bucky grins at him over his shoulder, and Steve stops short. “Relax, I was just fuckin’ with you.” 

Steve suddenly feels an avalanche of anxiety leave him in less than a second, replaced with relief and just a hint of annoyance. 

“Jeez, don’t blow a gasket or somethin’,” Bucky teases, laughing. Steve can’t help his own little smile as he shakes his head and tries to focus in on his drawing again. “I think it’d be fun to meet your friend. When’s he comin’ over?”

“I told him tomorrow would probably be fine.” Dorothy’s ears look better with some shading, and he begins to sketch out the fine hairs that pop out from the top of them. “He said he’d bring beer and we can order some pizza.”

“Well hell, why didn’t you say so earlier? Now I feel bad for teasin’ you.”

Steve gives a laugh, smiling down at his sketchbook.

“I guess I’ll forgive you.”

He hears the sarcasm in Bucky’s “Oh, thanks,” and then it goes quiet for a bit as he continues drawing and Bucky finishes dinner. He only looks up again when he hears the plates being brought out, and Bucky plates his food before he can get up, sliding it over to him before serving himself.

“Thanks,” he says, looking appreciatively at the stir-fry steaming in front of him.

“You’re welcome. It’s not like I cooked you a five-course meal or nothin’ though.” Bucky grabs them some silverware and settles in across from him, leaning against the counter.

“Still,” Steve says, picking up his fork and digging in. They’re quiet for a while, Steve quelling the rumbling in his stomach and Bucky doing the same, although once in a while Steve will catch Bucky watching him. The latter glances away and Steve doesn’t bother commenting on it, but then Bucky finally speaks up.

“So you’re not gonna try?”

“What?” Steve looks up from blowing on a piece of broccoli. 

“To get me to go to the VA?” He clarifies, casually sifting through his vegetables, although his eyes still glance up to search Steve’s face.

“Not if you don’t want to,” he replies, and Bucky seems to relax a bit. “’Course…you’re welcome to sit in on my class anytime.”

The corner of Bucky’s lips pull into a smile. “Okay. I’ll think about it.”

Steve doesn’t know if he’d actually want Bucky to come in to a class. It’d probably be a little embarrassing for him. But then again Bucky’d told him that he thinks his art is good. If he can get through his class without spilling paint or stuttering through his instructions then it should be okay.

“Can I be honest with you?”

He perks up at Bucky’s words, drawn out of his internal thoughts of potential personal humiliation.

“Sure.”

Bucky plays around with his food for a second, seeming a bit hesitant. Steve waits.

“I was upset at first, for telling you about Dum Dum, and that’s why I didn’t want to stay with you.”

Bucky looks up at him then, and Steve keeps his expression steady.

“Why?

He shrugs. “I guess…I didn’t like talking about it when I came home, and so I only ended up talking about it a couple times. I hated talking about it with my therapist, because I knew it was his job. Felt like he couldn’t understand. And then with Natasha…well it was a little better, ‘cause she knows me so well, but she wasn’t over there either, and…I dunno. Part of me felt like I couldn’t talk about it because what right did I have, y’know? It was my fault and I knew talking about it was s’posed to make me feel better, but I felt like I didn’t have any right to do that.”

Steve watches him move a piece of beef around his plate, thinking over his words.

“To feel better?” he questions, and Bucky nods.

There’s a heavy silence after that, while Bucky continues to move food around and Steve starts an internal war with himself. Eventually, one side wins, the side that wants to reach out to Bucky in any way he can. The desire to get closer. But it still takes him a moment to gather the courage to speak. When he does, its preceded by him clearing his throat, and it gets him Bucky’s attention.

“When I was twenty-one my mam was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer.” He can feel Bucky’s gaze on him, but he leaves his own on his food, letting himself focus on it as he speaks. “She got treatment, but it was aggressive, and they didn’t catch it early enough. She didn’t tell me anything, because I was overseas, and she didn’t want to worry me.” She never did. Always put him first. Always.

“Whenever I talked to her, she seemed like she was healthy and doing well, and when I finally _did_ find out, well…she told me it wasn’t as bad as it was. I wanted to come back, but I was already so close to coming home, so I had to make the decision to either stay the last couple months or go home early.” 

There’s not a sound as he pauses, and he doesn’t know if it’s the actuality of things or if he’s too engrossed in his own memories now to really be aware. Bucky doesn’t speak so he can’t know for sure, but a part of him is thankful at being able to continue at his own pace. To swallow his emotions, the especially dark ones, and to keep going.

“Mam convinced me to stay, and she told me that she’d let me know if anything changed. I got ahold of our extended family just to make sure I’d find out if something happened. But…I called her every day. Then I only had two weeks left ‘til I came back, and I found out she was taken to the hospital. I called and talked to her and she tried to tell me everything was fine, but I could tell…I knew that things were really bad.”

_You’ll want to come see her as soon as you can, Mr. Rogers. We don’t know how much longer she has._

It was the second worst thing he’d ever heard in his life.

He keeps going.

“I went and tried to get leave to come back early, and that got approved…but it was right before I left when I got the call.”

He doesn’t let himself go there again, not completely. The moment is there in his mind but he can’t replay it. It’s packed away, on some dusty lower shelf, and although he sometimes can’t help when the other ones around it fall down and scatter and make a mess, he knows that he won’t let that one do the same. It’s staying there. 

He continues.

“When I got back my uncle was waiting for me, and we went to the hospital but she wasn’t in her room anymore.” He takes a breath as he feels himself really threaten to lose it. He holds it in. When he lets it go he feels the wave of emotion ebb, and he can finish. “I wasn’t there when she passed.”

He stops, and lets the memory slowly fade away from the forefront of his mind, back into a place he saves for Sundays.

“I’ve thought so many times about what would’ve been different if I’d just come home sooner.” He doesn’t say anything else after that, only sits there and waits, not really knowing what to do.

It’s only quiet and his mind avoiding any thoughts at all for a long time, until he hears Bucky’s voice again.

“When you joined…was she proud?" 

Steve allows a little temporary smile at the thought, because yes, she was, and he has another picture of him in a uniform standing in front of their apartment to prove it. “Yeah. But that’s just the kind of person she was. I could’ve made my way in the world being a rodeo clown and she’d be right there in the stands cheering me on.”

Bucky’s the one who smiles at that, and he finds that he likes sharing these things about her. Things that made her who she was to him. He hasn’t really shared them in a long time. “She sounds like a great person,” Bucky says.

“She was.”

Bucky gives a nod and then looks away, thoughtful.

“Do you mind me asking…” He starts, sounding hesitant, but Steve tries to keep his expression open. It’s enough, and Bucky looks him in the eyes. “…why’d you tell me about it?”

“I don’t like talking about it,” he replies. “But you trusted me. I feel like I can trust you too.” His gaze holds Bucky’s, before the latter gets an unreadable expression and looks away.

“Well,” he says. “…I’m glad that you do. ‘Cause you know, I do trust you.” He’s gone back to picking at his food, and Steve learns a little more how hard this is for him, is learning as they go.

“Yeah. Well don’t trust me to make your bagel right in the morning. Other than that I think I’m pretty trustworthy.”

“If I see even a _tiny_ amount of cream cheese on my bagel, I swear to God Rogers…” The threat is lessened by the fact that Bucky has a smile on his face, although the fork being jabbed his way is a little unnerving.

Steve’s hands go up, surrendering. “Okay, I got it.” There’s a second when Bucky nods, satisfied. Until Steve continues, “I’ll just sneak it in under the jam.”

“Yeah you press your luck, see where that gets you.” 

He laughs, and feels the last dredges of a stressful day disappear with the banter. Bucky is smiling across from him, and even though their food has gone cold he can’t bring himself to mind. 

He helps Bucky clean up after, insists on doing most of the work since he didn’t have to cook. Bucky gives in, and goes to make up a bed on the couch, ignoring Steve’s protests.

“You didn’t get your bed last night, so it’s only fair.”

“Well after tonight you’ll probably get to sleep in your own bed,” he says, and the reality of his words set in immediately. If Zola can’t send letters anymore, then there’s no reason Bucky can’t go home. While he’s more than happy about the former, he suddenly finds that the thought of Bucky not being here, even just after a couple of days, is upsetting. He begins scrubbing the dishes with a little less enthusiasm as the reality of being alone again sets in. He never thought that he’d enjoy living with someone else, after being on his own for so long, but there’s no doubt now that he’s been enjoying Bucky’s company.

“Yeah…” he hears, a faint response. They don’t speak again as Steve finishes cleaning and Bucky makes his bed. After the last dish is in the washer, Steve walks over to the couch, hands on his hips, and looks down at his sprawled-out roommate. Bucky has a grin on his face as he looks up at him.

“Seriously, don’t try kickin’ me off. It’s not gonna work.”

He cracks a smile. “I’m not. Just making sure you’re comfortable." 

“You kiddin?” Bucky shifts, apparently trying to look as comfy as possible, although he makes a face as his hip hits something beneath the cushion. “Comfiest couch ever. Where’d you get it?”

“Off the street,” Steve replies wryly, and Bucky believes him for a minute, eyes wide until he sees his smile.

“Oh ha-ha. Like that’d stop me. I’ve slept in worse places,” he says, crossing his arms over his pillow.

“Me too.” Steve grabs the extra blanket from the armchair in the corner and hands it to Bucky. “Night Buck.”

He receives a strange look as Bucky takes the blanket, and as he walks off towards his room he hears a faint response. “Night.” 

* * *

 

“So how’s Bucky doing?”

Steve stirs his scrambled eggs as they cook, mouth twitching upward when he spots Jackson sitting on the floor next to him, staring up at him with wide eyes.

“Good, I think.” He flips the eggs, satisfied with the lightly browned color that greets him. 

Sharon makes a thoughtful sound on her end of the line. “So he’s adjusting?”

“I think he’s adjusting about as well as he can, considering we kicked him out of his apartment and practically made him live with me,” he replies, voice lowered. Bucky’s in the bathroom next door, but Steve still hasn’t heard the door close yet, or the shower turn on, so he knows that his side of the conversation has a good chance of being overheard.

“You did what you had to do,” she replies, sounding far more awake and aware than other people typically are at six in the morning. That was always something she and Steve had in common, though. They’re both morning people.

“I know you, and it wouldn’t be like you to not watch out for a friend,” she continues. 

“Yeah…” he trails off, still not entirely happy with not really giving Bucky much of a choice, even though he’s been assured by Natasha, Sam, Sharon, and even Bucky himself that it’s okay. 

“ _So_ …you two are still _just_ friends?”

He feels his expression grow unamused as he stares down at his eggs.

“Have you been talking to Sam?”

“No, but now I’ll make sure I do,” she replies, and Steve glares down at his breakfast, kicking himself. “I was there at the benefit ball, remember? I could tell just from being in the same room he had a thing for you.”

“ _Sharon_.” He can feel his face heat up a little, and he looks around to make sure Bucky isn’t nearby, even though the calmer part of his mind reminds him that he can’t hear her speaking.

“What? I’m just saying, I have a woman’s intuition about these things.”

He sighs, turning off the stove. “We’re friends Sharon, I don’t want to mess that up.” He grabs a plate, trying not to let his eyes wander down to Jackson’s pathetic face staring up at him.

“Right. _Friends_. Just friends.” Steve knows that she’s definitely smiling at this point, and he tries to derail the teasing at his expense.

“Sharon.”

“ _Best_ buds.”

“Sharon.”

“ _Bros._ ”

 _“Sharon_.”

“What?” She laughs, getting her kicks out of annoying him. “You realize he can’t hear me, Steve. We’re on the phone. The only part of this conversation he can hear is you, so as long as you don’t make a big deal about it, your boyfriend won’t-“

“Hey.” Steve starts a little, turning around at the sound of Bucky’s voice behind him.

“Oh. Hey,” he replies lamely, eyes catching on the naked chest and stomach displayed in front of him. Which, actually happen to be toned and not that he’d really _thought_ about it or anything, but… now that they’re here, just…out like that…they might be a little difficult to look away from. They’re also dry, so he’d been right about Bucky not being in the shower yet, the other standing there barefoot in a bathrobe and a pair of boxers. There are abs above them.

He has those too, he reminds himself. It shouldn't be anything new, and yet it is. They're Bucky's, and he wasn’t really expecting them. Admittedly, he might have briefly wondered what might be under his friend’s white button-downs and long sleeved shirts, but that’s just simple curiosity. Really, he can’t allow himself to think of Bucky explicitly in _that_ way, they're work partners. It wouldn’t be right. It isn’t right. So he shouldn’t. Even though he’s always known that Bucky is attractive. And now he _really_ knows.

“Uh, what do you need?” He asks, focusing his eyes above the chest. He isn’t sure if he manages to appear as calm as he’d like, because Bucky’s usually dour morning expression shifts, and a little smile tilts his lips.

“Is that him?” He hears Sharon, ask, but ignores the question. 

“Sorry, didn’t know you were on the phone.” Bucky actually looks apologetic for interrupting him, but Steve is just thankful that he hadn’t heard any of the conversation.

“Oh, no, it’s okay. It’s just my grandma.” He’s a little impressed with himself for the smooth lie, and he finds himself smiling a little as he suddenly finds a bit of inspiration. “She likes to call in the morning sometimes, to talk about all her old lady stuff.”

Bucky looks confused and Sharon scoffs down the line.

“Shouldn’t you cover the receiver or something?” He asks, making Steve aware of the fact that his “grandma” is able to hear everything he’s saying.

“Uh, no, don’t worry. She’s uh, she’s _really_ old. She can’t hear all that well anymore.” Sharon’s voice picks up, letting him know that she _can_ hear, _very well_ , and that he better stop before she comes over there. He has to resist the urge to grin as he continues. “Her hearing started going a looong time ago. I think her brain’s kind of getting there too, y’know?”

“ _WHAT?”_

He pretends to listen thoughtfully, holding the phone closer. “Hang on, now she’s going on about all her cats…” He raises his voice as he speaks slowly and clearly down the line. “ _No_ grandma, I’m sure Mr. Sprinkles didn’t eat your dentures, okay? You probably just lost them again.” He shakes his head at Bucky. “Loses them every time I talk to her, I swear.”

Bucky stares at him.

“So, uh, what was it you needed?” Steve holds his breath, waiting for Sharon to start in on him, but the other end of the line stays silent. 

“Um…there aren’t any more towels…” 

“Oh! Just did a load this morning, the clean ones are in the laundry basket by the bed.” He gives Bucky a smile, and the other man slowly nods at him as he turns and walks off into Steve’s room. 

He grins, turning back to the stove and picking up a bit of egg to feed to Jackson. “Hey grandma.”

The other end is silent for a moment, before Sharon finally answers, tone distinctly murderous.

“You know I’m going to kill you, right?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's back! 
> 
> I know this story is rising from the grave a little, but I'm sticking with this thing 'til the end (of the line). I'm still excited to share it, and I'm determined to finish sharing ALL of it soon! The end isn't very far off, so hang in there as more is revealed and things begin to come together (in more ways than one...).
> 
> Thanks to every one of you who've been sticking with this story, especially those who have left feedback. All of those comments and kudos seriously give me validation in my work and they are so appreciated. BRB passed 3000 hits with the last chapter and as that number goes up I'm really thankful and glad to see the continued interest in this story. I hope you're all enjoying it!
> 
> I'll be back again with the next chapter soon (although I do have a few little projects planned before that so watch for those if you like!), so again, thank you for reading, and I'll see you guys next time!
> 
> P.S.-  
> Sorry about uncle Ben.


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